Horror Vacui
by Alda Rethe
Summary: Trying to mediate a ghost, Suze finds herself in 1849 California of all places, after putting on a mysterious ring. Oddly enough, the ghost is there with her. Not to mention another certain someone, rousing trouble…What has Suze gotten herself into?
1. Joan of Arc

**Horror Vacui**

A/N: Hey, everybody! This is my first story so far and I an extremely proud of it, or at least of what I have at the moment. I'm not sure if the title fits at all to the plot but I'm praying it does, sooner or later. Any who I hope you all enjoy it and please have pity on me and review when you finish the chapter. 

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Suze, Dopey, Doc, Sleepy, Father Dominic, etc. and I don't own any of the other characters that you recognize from _The Mediator _series. The legendary and stupendous Meggin Patricia Cabot created those. However, I do own Joan and many other characters that will appear in future chapters.

Oh, and here's the full summary which was too long for me to put on the main thing-a-ma-jiggie:

Suze finds an old silver ring while attempting to mediate a pesky ghost. There's nothing odd about that. Well, not until Suze finds herself in the 1850s and running into familiar individuals. Erm, is that a bad thing? It becomes one when she realizes Paul is there too, not only Jesse. And unlike Jesse, Paul remembers the future—or is it the past? Aw, crud now I'm confused. I'll never get this mysterious omniscient narrator thing down…

And now without further ado…

Chapter One: Joan of Arc

"Suze, we're gonna be late! Hurry up!"

That, of course, was—who else would be witless enough to wake me from slumber? -- Dopey, my incredibly brainless stepbrother. Why must he always ruin my mornings when I'm attempting to receive a few more seconds—God forbid a few extra minutes—of shut-eye? 

_Why?_

"Be patient for once in your short pointless life. I'll be down in a few," I growled loudly.  He is so lucky he didn't choose to come up to my room to wake me, otherwise he would be limping throughout the entire day due to a swift kick in a certain area.

 I am so not a morning person.

I don't see what his rush was. We weren't even on the verge of being late. We still had like ten minutes before school officially started at the Mission Academy. Plenty of time. I struggled out of bed with a groan and stumbled over to my closet and grabbed the first two articles of clothing that matched with each other. A pink cashmere turtleneck sweater and black Capri pants.  Not a bad choice considering I am usually as blind as a bat in the morning. I also bought a cute pair of black leather boots yesterday that would go lovely with the combination. Generally I would take me so much longer to pick out my attire but I had a depressing feeling I wouldn't be seeing Jesse today so my looks didn't really matter that much to me. I have hardly seen Jesse since he moved into the rectory. That was a week ago. It's a bit disappointing how dreary my room is without that familiar ghost. I thought I was a more independent girl. 

Jesse used to say I wasn't as invulnerable as I fancied myself to be.

I trudged down the stairs after changing my clothes, brushing my teeth and washing and styling my auburn hair to find my mom standing in the kitchen with Andy drinking a cup of coffee, smiling and chatting. 

"Hey, mom. Aren't you late for work?" I asked grabbing a piece of toast on the table and taking a bite. "I mean the local news must have started an hour ago, right?"

My mom choked on the hot decaffeinated coffee she was sipping. 

"Oh my God! You're right!" She squinted at her watch as she hastily dabbed her face with a cloth napkin. "Shoot, I don't know what came over me! I am so very late for work. Why didn't they call me?" 

Poor mom. I guess she and Andy stayed up way late last night. Why else would mom have not woken up early to go to work? Mom looses track of time when she's happy or distracted. 

Eww!

 I can't imagine what happened. I shudder at the thought. I just hope this doesn't result in a new baby brother/sister next year.

"Bye, Suzie. Bye, Andy! I'll see you two this evening." My mom cried, giving me a swift hug and then she practically sprinted out the door, passing my three stepbrothers on her way.

Seeing my mom rush out the door must have made Dopey, Sleepy and Doc realize I was still here and school would start in five minutes and that if my mom was capable of running out the door in order to prevent herself from being late or further late than she was already, I should be too.

"Suze! Get your butt the heck outta there or else we're leaving without you!" That was Sleepy this time and he sounded genuinely riled. Also he didn't say 'butt' nor did he say 'heck'. He sure woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

"Hey, watch your language, Jake!" Andy yelled. 

He hates it when his beloved sons curse in front of him. Sometimes I think he and my mom live on their own little worlds.  It's a good thing Andy doesn't visit the Mission Academy much otherwise he would witness Dopey and his jock buddies cursing nonstop and hacking loogies at little eight graders like some of Doc's brainy friends. Then my stepfather might suffer from a heart attack due to befuddlement. But Jake, who I call Sleepy, is usually too exhausted to swear and he goes to college so his dad might think he's old enough to cuss or at least Andy doesn't hear him cuss that often. But David, who I fondly call Doc, is too much of a nerdy thirteen year old to even consider adding cuss words into his already huge vocabulary. 

"Later, Andy," I said and grabbing my book bag, I hightailed it out of there before he could offer to whip me up a batch of buttermilk pancakes. They are the best darn pancakes I have ever tasted but come on; I didn't want to be purposefully tardy. I'm not that cold hearted. But I couldn't resist whacking Dopey upside down when I got outside. Serves him right waking me up before my alarm clock had the chance to.

                  *************************************************

It turns out we were late despite the two red lights Dopey had ran.  But when Sister Ernestine questioned Dopey, Doc and my self's tardiness (Sleepy goes to college so we dropped him off at his college first so _he_ didn't have to be late for school) I put on a big obsequious grin before Dopey could come up with a lame excuse through all his "Uhhs" and before Doc could tell the truth, I simpered, "But, Sister, we aren't tardy we're just behind schedule. I ask you, is that such a sin?"

Clearly, she thought it was a sin since she gave me an afternoon's detention (which is four hours!) for being late and for --and I quote-- "behaving like a smart aleck," then she sent me to Father Dominic's office.  Well, at least now I wouldn't have to go to homeroom yet. Paul is there, the diehard…

"Ah, Susannah. How are you today?" Father D. greeted me as I walked into his office. He was totally clueless why I had been sent here on this unsuccessful mundane Monday morning. I decided it would be best to just break it to him, plain and simple.

"Well, I had a peaceful weekend, ghost free thankfully." But I wouldn't have minded seeing Jesse though. I wouldn't have minded at all. "And I was late for school so Sister Ernestine sent me to you."

Father Dom's blithe vibe instantly croaked. "Oh, Susannah, just for being late? I'm sure Sister Ernestine had a worthier reason than that." His baby blue eyes narrowed in suspision. "Susannah, what did you do?"

My jaw dropped in mock offense. "Father D, I am hurt that you would even suggest that I had to do something worthy of detention from Sister Ernestine. Have you ever thought that she just hates kids and comes up with elaborate lies to rid herself of the slightly strong-willed ones, huh?"

Okay, perhaps it wasn't very wise to imply to a priest that a nun might hate the Lord's children and lie as well. Both might be damnation deserving, maybe worse, but Father D only smiled all-knowingly and gave me a Please-don't-insult-my-teachers-Susannah look that I have been graced with countless times before.

            "Okay, fine," I said giving in, sliding onto the chair opposite him. "I may have said something a little… brazen. But that is no reason for the Sister to give me detention. I mean a couple weeks ago I punched Brad and I only got like three hours but this is four! What gives, Father D? A punch in the stomach or a snippy remark. Which one do you think is worst?"

            At this point I think Father Dom became tired of my preaching. "Calm down, Susannah. Apart from this, which I am sure is a misunderstanding, you are fine, hmm? Haven't any dealings with ghosts lately?" I said nope not sure where this was going. I decided not to tell him about Craig since Craig had gone to the greater beyond days ago so he was out of my hair for good.

            "Good. Well, you're missing homeroom class and I have to write a review on the feast of Father Serra. I think it turned out very nicely, don't you?" Then without waiting for a reply he shooed me out of his office. I didn't put up much of a fight since I was recalling that happy moment I had with Jesse at the celebration of Father Serra. As I entered homeroom I was blissfully unaware of Paul and everyone else.

                  *************************************************

"Hey! That's attached to my head you know!"

I groaned at the darting figure as I climbed to my feet, my left hand clutching my poor jerked auburn hair, my right hand holding onto a tree branch for support (I made sure it wasn't poison oak, don't worry, it was the Cyprus type of tree).

What is with ghosts these days? Just because I refused to help the ghostly brat earlier today doesn't mean she had to go tugging on my hair. I mean, please. I was attempting to help her now. Show some common curtsey to the only being that can actually decline and try helping you, thank you very much.

Besides, it is so not my fault that I did not assist her, okay? She was completely unsympathetic of my own plight but then she may say the same of me. 

But now I'll never know that, will I?

When she had come to me, just had abruptly appeared without so much as a hint except for that multihued shimmering ghost aura which can only be seen by the mediator's eye, --my eyes, to be more specific-- I was in my world history class completing a test. I'm not the history buff but this was a test about America in the 1800s and I felt obligated to complete it and do an excellent job on it. 

Jesse was alive in the 1840s, you know, which was similar to the 1800s, which I thought, was neat. I somehow felt closer to Jesse learning about his time period though I suppose it was the same type of false closeness like the closeness I had briefly felt when I had read his letters to the ferret-faced Maria, but whatever. Jesse, for whatever reason, still wasn't sharing much of his past with me even now that we were practically boyfriend/girlfriend, which is what I continue to patiently hope for.

Anyway, I was innocently sitting on my hard plastic chair writing about the Pony Express in a 300 words or more essay, when that girl appeared. Yup, she just materialized right beside me.

She must have been only fourteen or so, a few years younger than me but she looked like a nightmare, the glow didn't help beautify her completion. If she wasn't dead I bet she would have been considered pretty. Dark long hair down to her shoulders, pale freckled skin and she was clothed in a worn out pair of jeans and a blue top. Obviously she didn't go to the Mission Academy. Jeans are against the dress code. 

I guess I sent out a mediator vibe or something because the next thing I knew she was staring at me and then went in this hoarse loud voice, "You're a mediator, right? My name is Joan and I need you to help me." She sounded like one of those dead people on _Tru Calling. _You know? They say '_Help me_' in this freakishly raspy voice.

            I swear I would have helped her if the conditions had been different. I couldn't just start talking to her with everyone else around and I couldn't even do something to signal to her that I'd try to talk to her later. I couldn't even write down a note to her since I happen to sit by Kelly in this class and she occasionally glances at my papers. My only choice was to ignore the spirit, which is what I promptly did.

            She, Joan that is, didn't take too kindly being overlooked. I could tell by the way the globe of Earth on Mr. Walden's desk began to wobble ever so slightly. But what could I do? Punch her out? No, I'll pass for now, thanks. Maybe later.

It turns out I didn't have to do much except shoot Joan a warning glance. She returned this look with an expression I often see girls like Kelly and Debby giving to other girls like CeeCee and myself, girls who they think aren't as good as them. 

It so figures. 

Then she dematerialized. The Earth quit its vibrating.

Whatever. At least she didn't levitate the globe to conk anybody hard in the head before she left.

And that is how I ended up here, at the edge of the woods where Jesse's grave is located. That part wouldn't seem so odd since it isn't because I visit his grave often wondering why we can never be perfect together. But it was during this mourning period after I completed my detention sentence (It turns out Father D. didn't do anything to persuade Sister Ernestine to change her mind, he just said he would to make me leave) that Joan appeared. I was about to utter an apology or an explanation or even a proper introduction only I didn't have the chance because the brat pushed me.

That's right the little horror was so ticked off at me that she just strode over and pushed me. Hard.

I was about to say, "Hey, um, I'm sorry about what happened," but you know, she pushed me before I was able to blurt out more than 'Hey, um I'm—'

            "What was that for?" I asked sharply regaining my balance. If the little creep touched me again, I swear I'd punch the living daylights outta her. I don't care if she's two years younger than me, I would do it if provoked.

            Joan was fuming. Clearly she had just become a ghost because she was panting and already looked tired even though all she had accomplished was angering me.

            "You shouldn't brush off a presence, you know. It's not nice! You don't know what I've been through!"

            Right.

 That was a typical thing for a new dead person to say. But I wasn't as prepared for what came next. Joan glanced at all the tombstones in the graveyard and unexpectedly let out a monstrous sob then crumbled to the ground, leaning against Jesse's gravestone, banging her fist pathetically against the dewy grass. 

Whoa.

I still felt the urge to slug her but that just wouldn't be right with her crying pitifully leaning against Jesse's headstone as if her life depended on it. That is if she still had a life.

"I s-shouldn't have d-died!" She blubbered through her tears. "It shouldn't h-have been m–me!! We shouldn't h-have even g-gone! I w-wasn't the o-one driving the darn c-car!" She used slightly stronger language than this but I couldn't blame her in this case.

I kneeled down next to her and laid, what I hoped was, a comforting hand on Joan's arm. I hadn't really heard all of what she said through the weeping but I got the main idea. Presumably she had died in a car crash. Maybe the driver had been drunk, but she wasn't that driver, —of course not, she's only fourteen-- just an innocent passenger, I think. 

Well, what was I supposed to do about that to make Joan move on?

"I'm sorry, Joan."

Joan tugged out of my grasp. "You don't have to be s-sorry for me, mediator! Just h-help me, okay?

            Boy, was she persistent not to mention rude. It reminds me of two other famous girls named Joan who I'm familiar with, somewhat. Joan of Arc and Joan Girardi from the TV show on CBS _Joan of Arcadia_. All of these Joans are determined, attractive and unrelenting. 

            Hmm. Maybe my mom should have named me Joan. Joan Simon. I'd probably be more successful and have a better chance with Jesse.

            I held up my hands in an I-surrender way. "Jeez. Moody, aren't we? What can I do for you then?"

She closed her hazel eyes and held her hands to her temple as if she had a migraine and rocked back and forth like Gollum, not answering me. I waited for a moment for a respond.

"Um, do you have any idea how I can help you so you are content with you old life and move on? Because I really do have other things I could be doing, Joan. Like homework and," I checked my watch, "I have to be hope soon for dinner."

            This might have struck a nerve, even though I was trying to be as nice as possible, but Joan opened her eyes suddenly livid and jerked forward at me, grabbing my hair before I could even twitch.

            "Hey, that's attached to my head, you know!" I keeled over in pain as she stood up then ran. 

            Oooh, that little hellion. She is so gonna pay for that. This just became personal.

            I grabbed a nearby tree branch for support and I was about to run after her when I noticed a small glinting thing nestled at the tree's base. Rubbing my head gently I peered at it, curiously. 

            It was a ring. A small silver ring with a round jewel embedded into the silver. An elaborate design was cast on the silver creating a distinct picture of maybe words although I wasn't sure what it was of. The jewel was dark blue with grains of a white mineral or something inside it. In the radiance of the setting sun the ring sparkled making it seem almost alive. 

            I picked up the ring, forgetting momentarily about Joan and studied it until I heard a noise behind me.

"Hey! What's that you got there?" It was Joan, who for some reason came back. She peered over my shoulder, a hand on my shoulder in order to get a better look.

Only a foolish person would come back to a girl after physically assaulting that girl's hair and not expect some sort of punishment. Joan must be incredibly foolish. I was planning on putting on the ring since I didn't have any pockets to keep it safe, then seizing Joan's hand I would flip her over.

But right after I slipped the ring on my left thumb I felt a seriously freaky sensation coming from the region of my tummy and then a sickening jerk sent me backwards, or at least that was the direction it felt like. I couldn't see a thing, only pitch-blackness.

Uh oh. This can't be good.

                  *************************************************

A/N: Phew, this took a while to type. Sorry, it's sort of a cliffhanger ending and I probably won't get the next chapter up soon but I appreciate any and all comments/suggestions.  Thanks!


	2. Entering the Void

Horror Vacui

A/N: The phrase 'horror vacui' means 'fear of the void'. I don't know if it's obvious what that particular void is yet but I'm hoping to clarify that in this chapter. Thanks to those who reviewed! 

Oh, and I had a few grammar errors in the last chapter. One I think that might be confusing was when Suze said, ' "…Because I really do have other things I could be doing, Joan. Like homework and," I checked my watch, "I have to be hope soon for dinner." ' It's really supposed to be 'home' not 'hope'. Heh, my bad!

**Arda Silverlace**: I like Doc too. He's adorable. ^_^ And don't worry, Paul or perhaps Jesse will come into the picture soon. Read on and you'll see for sure. –grins- Thanks for reviewing! Oh, and thanks for the idea on my story! Brilliant idea!

**NiceHayley**: You really think it's good? Why thank you! I'm really flattered! And because I don't want you to loose your sanity here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

**Muzacgurl**: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it. :)

**Chapter 2: Entering the Void**

I wasn't sure what was happening or where in the world I was going but a few seconds after that eerie yank I heard an angry whooshing sound in my ears and then I quit flying backwards and I landed on my butt on something hard. Gradually daylight began to return.

This wasn't turning out to be a very good day.

I blinked and gaped at my surroundings. Today became even shoddier, if that is even possible, at that very moment.

No longer was I near the graveyard by the Mission Academy, nuh-uh. I was now sitting on the left side of a dirt road with tall green grass on both sides of the road, a wooden fence outlining acres of the pasture to the right. If I'm not mistaken I think I saw a grazing cow in the pasture too. To top it all off, a blazing sun beat down on me, unmercifully.

Even though I now had a colossal headache from all that I have been through and witnessed and my bottom now hurt something awful, I couldn't help thinking only that, 'My pants are so ruined.'

What is wrong with me?

Here I am, somewhere by myself, I've just been through what I assume is a black hole and all I can think about are my black pants. I am such a freak.

But to my astonishment when I glanced down at my waist what I saw wasn't black $50 Capri pants.

No, I wasn't naked, you weirdo.

God. 

But it was just as horrific in my opinion.

I was wearing —get this—a dress! And not those simple, short, skimpy, spaghetti-strap, summer dresses either (which wouldn't have been too bad), no. Not even a prom dress. It was the type of dress that Elizabeth Swann wore on _Pirates of the Caribbean. _Only worse. It was a chocolate brocade afternoon dress with fringe trim on the sleeves and bodice with brass front buttons, and a lace collar insert and an elliptical skirt.

I think I screamed.

What? 

You can't actually blame me. What would you have done if you had been trying to "mediate" a ghost and suddenly was sucked into another dimension then to your utter amazement you were now wearing an ugly _heavy_ dress? 

I assume you would do the same.

I managed to get to my bare feet (I didn't even have my black boots anymore. What gives?!? I bought them on sale too!) even though it was difficult because of all the layering of the dress and stuff. I grabbed the material of the skirt and shook it frantically, hoping if I whipped it hard enough back and forth it would diminish and I would be back in my sweater and black pants (and my leather Bat-Girl boots) dealing with Joan.

It didn't work.

All I accomplished through this was the full realization that I wasn't in my time period anymore. I mean look at it my way:

This ring I put on must be some time warp magical devise and when put on, it will suck the thing with the ring on into another era. What else would explain the sudden change of scenery, the different clothing and the fact that I no longer have footwear? Nothing else would unless I'm suffering from a concussion that was caused by Joan when she pulled my hair.

But I am so much tougher than that to get a concussion just by someone tugging my hair. I am a mediator after all.

A bright idea popped into my head. I could take the blasted ring off and go back to my time period. Brilliant Suze!

But as I started to slowly withdraw the ring from off my left thumb, that familiar dragging sensation returned slightly in my stomach. I hastily put the ring securely on again. No way was I gonna go through that hell again. No freakin' way. I sighed deeply.

It took me a few minutes to comprehend this newfound information.

Oh my God. I'm in another time era. I'm apart of a _different_ time period other than the 21st century! And I can't even return to my own century.

Oh, my poor mom! She will be positively frightened when I don't come home for dinner. Unless she thinks I'm out with some new friends or a guy I met - as if. But then when I don't return by midnight she should be worried so much. And poor Father Dominic! I bet he will be just as concerned as my mom when I'm labeled 'missing'. 

These thoughts were running through my head when I suddenly realized just how scorching hot it was in this old fashion dress. How can girls wear these things every single day? It's torture!

I let go of my skirt and took a hold of my right lace sleeve trim and began tearing it off. It helped a bit but I was still hot. As I was tearing of the left sleeve I heard the close sound of hooves on the dirt path. Looking up, a rider on a light tan colored horse greeted my eyes. 

Well, whaddaya know. There is life in this time era. Speaking of which, I don't even know what this time era is yet. Judging by my fancy garb and the horse I'd say perhaps the 19th century. I'll ask the dude coming ahead maybe. 

Subtly, of course. I don't want anyone in this time period thinking I'm nuts. 

I shielded my eyes from the sun with my right hand in order to get a clearer view of the rider who was gradually coming closer.

I could tell at a distance that the guy was wearing a tan cowboy hat and clothes akin to Jesse's although this dude's shirt was sky blue. Interesting.

He was also something of a hottie. As he neared I could tell he was muscular and he had a toothy white grin that seemed just for me, but maybe that was because I resembled what a prostitute would look in the 1800s. I mean, I had torn off my sleeves and in this era they might consider that as too revealing and I wasn't even wearing shoes or gloves (Weren't gloves a must for girls in this time period?). But this dude also had light, extremely light blue eyes that matched his shirt.

Eyes just like…wait. What the—

"Paul?!"

There was no denying it. That huge grin totally gave him away.

"Hello, Suze. Or should I say Susannah?" He pulled back on the reins, making the horse snort and stop beside me.

Oh my God. Paul was here. _How?_

"What are you doing here?" I inquired overly suspicious, remembering I hated him with all my heart.

"Is that the kind of way to welcome your knight in shining armor?"

I folded my arms across my chest. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is." If that knight is you. "Now, what are you doing here?"

"Well, Suze," he dismounted his horse. "The thing is that after you disappeared, your mom called Father Dominic since your brother, Brad, told her you had detention. Then I guess the good ol' Father told De Silva who instantly came to me demanding what I did to you." He rolled his eyes as if Jesse's tactics bored him and studied my new look.

"He does have some reason to be angry though, seeing as it's partially my fault you're here."

It took a moment for this to sink in because I was momentarily ecstatic because Jesse had been concerned for me. But when it finally did sink in, I was furious.

"What do you mean? How could this possibly be your fault?" I asked icily. "Don't flatter yourself by saying it is, okay?" It's too confusing.

Paul gestured at my left hand. "See that ring of yours? I have one too."

Holding the reins of his horse Paul began walking in the direction he was heading when I had stopped him only a few minutes ago and I just then could make out that on his left ring finger he wore a ring identical to my own. Reluctantly I followed him. I needed answers desperately and so far he wasn't helping much.

"That doesn't answer my question." I said stubbornly.

Paul just smirked again. "I know."

He is such a schmuck.

"Do you plan on answering any of my questions any time soon?"

Did I mention he had on those creepy cowboy boots with those pointy sharp little spurs on each boot end that clanked ominously as he walked as well? Not a good sign.

"Maybe after your first shifter lesson today."

I halted. "Shifter les—what? I can't have lessons now! If you haven't noticed we're in a different era of time." Besides I was praying and hoping he would forget about that and just leave Jesse and myself alone. Clearly he hasn't. 

Damn.

"So? What difference does it make if we're in the twenty-first century or the nineteenth? We made a deal. You're gonna get the lessons whether you like it or not." I didn't like the way he said this, like it was a definite thing and I had no say in it. He was also completely calm when he talked which isn't unlike the way he speaks in the 21st century but here, when women were thought of as the weaker sex, it was almost sinister. He had also stopped walking a few seconds after I had so he was only a couple feet away.

I guess this 19th century air was getting to my head because all I said in response was; "I refuse," like a spoiled brat…like Maria would.

Paul didn't seem to think I had any refusing rights if the way he roughly grabbed both my arms was any indication. It's funny how a person's expression can change all of a sudden. One second he was coolly smiling and the next his face was contorted into lines of rage.

"If you repudiate the lessons precious De Silva is gone for good. I can do much worse to him here, in the late 1840s, than I can ever do in the future." Paul spat vehemently. "If it comes to it, I will prevent his death now and you won't even meet him in the future."

My mouth opened into a faint 'O' of recollection. 

That's right. God, that's so true. I love Jesse and if Paul made it so I never meet him in the future my life would have no meaning. I'd be heartbroken without knowing it. But I don't want to let Jesse die either! That would feel like suicide on my part. 

Paul had basically admitted what year it was without meaning to, I'm sure which was a tad bit helpful. Jesse was born in 1830 and died in the year 1850. Paul had said it was the late 1840s so I'm guessing that the year is 1849 because it can't be any earlier otherwise Paul will have to wait so much longer in order to stay true to his open threat and it can't be any later than 1850 otherwise Jesse would already be a ghost.

But either way I flip the coin I lose.

Paul must have seen the distress in my eyes, which caused his trademark smile to return.

"You've no choice, Suze."

I didn't reply and I think Paul got it somewhere in his thick head to kiss me because the next thing I knew his face was coming closer. 

"I'm well aware of that, Paul," I stated slowly. "And that's why I've made up my mind." And with that I kicked his shin viciously but I don't think it did much good since I was after all barefooted. 

Just my luck. 

But Paul let me go anyway, looking somewhat vexed that I wouldn't let him do any thing but he soon recovered his composed manner.

"Where you going, Suze?" He asked idly as I had begun walking hurriedly in the opposite direction.

"Away from you."

He chuckled and turned his horse around and began trailing me. "And do you happen to know where this path leads to?"

"No," I answered simply, hoping he'd get the message that I no longer wished to talk to him. My feet were starting to sting from slapping against the dirt road again and again, which had an occasional sharp rock strewn carelessly there that just so happens managed to find its way under my foot, but I trekked on. "But as long as you're not there, I'll be happy."

I don't know what Paul made of this comment since I couldn't see his face but I didn't really care. 

"Then it seems you will never be happy again."

This was an unnerving statement and I didn't really appreciate it. And I know I've said numerous times before that politeness is a useful weapon as physical violence but I was unable to follow through with that in this particular circumstance. I snapped.

"Paul, would you please, for the sake of my saneness and your yet-to-be-broken nose, just shut up?" So much for the polite aspect but at least I said please. 

He just laughed loudly and mounted his horse still pursuing me except now on horseback. 

How lovely.

"You'd get to where you want to go faster, Suze, if you rode with me."

Now isn't this familiar? Me walking away from Paul and him still following after I show no interest in him or getting a ride either. This had happened once before. Talk about déjà vu. 

And you remember how that turned out.

"Actually—" But Paul interrupted me.

"You know some dangerous folk often use this road."

"That explains why you're here, I suppose?"

He smirked. Clearly he enjoyed being called dangerous.

"Robbers, wanted cowboys, people who've broken the law and are up to no good. People who know things most others don't." Was there some hidden meaning behind this or was he just stalling?

"Hmm. Is that so? And you fall somewhere under that last category?"

Paul nodded with a distant look on his face for a moment. Probably cooking up some diabolical plan. But a second later the look was gone and he was leering at me once again.

"You're heading towards Carmel-by-the-sea, California if you wanted to know. Only half an hours walk away." 

"Right," I said nonchalantly. "Thanks for the update."

"It's true. The place may look a bit different but the land and landmarks are primarily the same just younger if you know what I mean. And there's no tall steel or concrete buildings, all the houses are made of wood. Most people walk place to place but the rich have horses or wagons."

Where did that come from? I thought he was trying to get me to ride with him. If I know the terrain there's no reason I need to ride. A wave of doubt overcame me.

"Any wild animals I should worry about while I'm at it?" I asked sarcastically.

"No, I haven't seen any animals that would harm an innocent damsel yet," he said, winking meaningfully.

For some reason I think we were talking about two different types of animals. I was referring to the cute furry ones with huge eyes that have more than two legs while he probably wasn't.

Then he turned his horse around and headed in the direction he had originally been going without saying a word to me. Not that I cared, but still.

I continued on but was stopped by his voice. 

"Be ready for that lesson. I'll see you later, Suze."

As if he would actually know where I went once I got to Carmel. Puh-lease. 

Whatever.

*************************************************

A/N: Hope you guys liked it. It was kinda difficult to portray Paul, with his evil demeanor and dishonorable intentions. What do you think? Did I do an okay job?

And did you get the impression of what the void was? Or do I have to give more hints?

Please review. I need your opinions! All of them, the good and bad.


	3. A Familiar Face

Horror Vacui 

****

A/N: Sorry it has taken me so darn long to get this chapter up. After I began writing it and saved it on my computer's hard drive something funky happened and the next think I know it's gone! Poof! Gone. (Let this be a lesson to ye youngsters: always save your important stories on a floppy disk.) And before I knew it, then school got in the way—it always does—so I've been working dutifully on bits and pieces every few days. But everybody else's stories are so bloody cool, I get distracted reading them!

A/N: But anyway. I'm sure you guys don't want to hear my sad excuses for being a lazy bum. Thanks a million to all you lovely people who have reviewed! It puts a smile on my face to read and reread those reviews. And since I have made you guys wait so long I feel it is my respectful duty to respond to each and every one of you.

**Arda Silverlace:** Of course Jesse will come in soon! What kind of self-respecting Jesse fan would I be if he never appeared? And Jesse has yet to make acquaintances with both Suze and Paul. Lucky duck. I wouldn't mind meeting them, me self!

Erm…I believe you're analyzing the Void too deeply. The actual answer is somewhere between those two suggestions. You'll possibly see the real answer as the story continues. But it's good to know my readers study this story so closely. –grins-

**Beebee17**: -laughs- I haven't fulfilled your request of more and soon but here's a little bit more…enjoy!

**NiceHayley**: I know! The dress issue thingy makes Suze seem less unique and Suze-like but I've always thought of Suze as kinda tomboy-ish despite her good fashion sense so I thought her reaction was required.

Paul? Yummy? That scares me. I never thought of Paul (the evil shifter) as yummy! Yikes! –giggles- We'll see where Suze goes and if Paul follows. You never know… Or am I that obvious?

**Muzacgurl**: Thanks a bunch! Yeah, I thought it was important to have a Suze-ish moment in there. She's always thinking silly thoughts when something major just happened. Like right after a breezeway falls on top of her or she travels 170 years back in time. Either or. Thanks for reviewing!

**Mystique Anqelique**: You really think so? Gosh. –blushes- Absoscrumuliciouslylutely? Cute word! I don't know if Paul is mean enough yet or creepy/stalker-ish yet but maybe in this chapter…

You're just being modest. I think your stories are much more entertaining and witty than mine. You've written more too. And update more often. The qualities of a good writer/author. –nods- 'Tis true, you know.

(Oh, and by the way, I'm thirteen. Just, like incase you wanted to know…yeah.)

**LilDevil**: Okay! Point taken so much. Here's the update, enjoy and don't forget to review! 

**Softball_gurl13**: Why, thank you kindly. Please do read on…

**Kelly**: I love _Tru Calling_ too! Did you see that new episode with Tamari Gray recently? So cool (but what's up with this new Jack guy?)! Wow. I love it that my readers are trying to analyze what the Void is! My actual idea of the Void is super lame and lacks creativity so I'll just go with your and Arda Silverlace's ideas of what it is.

Foolish Fish: I love Paul too, but not as much as I love Jesse. If Jesse (& Paul) were real and not, you know, fictional characters, I'd totally have a crush on the two of them. 

**LinkinParkGurlie**: I thank thee, truly. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

And don't worry, you guys. Jesse's coming super soon, either in this chapter or the next. And I seriously love you ALL for reviewing!!!! This is a super long chapter dedicated to the story of King Arthur, Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. I don't know why, it just is.

****

Chapter Three: A Familiar Face 

****

Paul was right.

After half an hour of walking I began to see in the distance tiny wooden buildings, horse drawn wagons and dudes on horseback. Those are probably the rich cowboys. Farther off, the sparkling turquoise Pacific Ocean greeted me, which was a pleasant sight for sore eyes.

I've always admired the breath-taking sight since I first laid eyes on Carmel. It's quite humbling to see the amazingly massive blue blanket and the open green vegetation, which is positively gigantic compared to the decent yet small manmade structures and the people as well.

Oddly enough the air tasted and smelled less polluted, dirtied and contaminated than with George W. Bush Jr. reigning as America's president, too. Funny, ain't it? 

Nevertheless, I am not planning on thanking him. No way. On the contrary, if I see him again I fully intent to pop him one in his sickeningly handsome face. Really, I do. 

Paul, I mean, not Mr. Bush.

He totally does not deserve my thanks after suddenly appearing and saying a few words that intrigued me so much but then disappearing without any resolution at all.

But of course I didn't make it to the beautiful 170 years younger Carmel-by-the-sea without interference. Oh, no. Apparently the greater being has other plans for this girl.

Because ironically, a few minutes after Paul had disappeared a silhouette of a rider on a horse gradually become visible in the sun's blazing profile. My heart rate sped up considerably with the misgivings that this 'lone ranger' might be my Jesse coming out to save me and my feet (which now weren't dully stinging, no, but _throbbing _painfully with every single solitary step).

Ha, I wish. One in a million, sister.

No, this guy was practically the complete opposite of Jesse.

Now a mere few yards away from him, I was close enough to note that the guy wasn't as lavishly garbed as Paul was and he was riding a horse the same dark brown color as my dress. The poor horse looked to be limping and panting deeply as if it had been forced to run early on without a decent drink of water. The guy also carried a bulky burlap bag the kind those bank robbers have filled with stolen bank money in all those Wild West movies.

Clearly, this guy was one of those "dangerous folk" Paul had mentioned.

I was huffing and puffing along, my head held high nonetheless, completely and deliberately overlooking the wanted cowboy (or so I assume that's what he is: a wanted law breaker). But people just can't seem to overlook little ol' Suze anymore, now can they?

I mean, I pay no attention to Joan then she starts blabbing to me, I brushed off Paul ages ago but he badgers me as if there's no tomorrow (so to speak), and now this guy is studying me with this leering gaze which I know from experience can't signify anything good.

"What are you looking at?" I inquired with a bit more venom than was required. 

Then the dude's leer grew even wider if possible revealing a few cracked and missing front teeth and a few chipped gold ones too.

How very attractive.

He descended off the dark colored horse lightly with some attitude as if he was Gods gift to women.

As if.

I noticed that the horse looked extremely pleased when the man got off him. Poor creature. People should not be cruel to animals; they can't even fend for themselves sometimes, you know?

"Dude, I am walking here. Move." I said sharply as he stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He wasn't getting on my D-nerve yet but the fact that he hadn't uttered a word at all and was still holding the money sack even now was a tad bit disconcerting.

And he was still grinning like a dimwit. That was freaky too.

It made him look like one of those bobble-head dashboard toys, you know, with huge grins and usually something in their hands or whatever.

I didn't look that much like a hooker, did I? The hot sun and the amount of perspiring I was achieving wasn't working wonders for my hair, but apart from that and my ripped lace sleeves and bare feet I don't think I looked all that bad. He had no right to be staring at me like I had just sprouted another head or something.

Mr. Bobble-head finally affirmed to say something. It's a good thing he decided to do so too because I had half the mind to just kick him so I could go along on my merry little way (and to put the poor horse out of it's misery at having such a lousy owner). Every second he wasted was a second I lost before I eventually got to Carmel-by-the-sea.

"Hullo there, little missy."

Huh. Not what I was expecting.

But what I definitely was not expecting was to be seized by both my wrists and yanked threateningly forward. _Again._

As if I haven't been pushed around enough today.

I gasped involuntarily, which caused the guy to grin once more in this way that undeniably said "Ha! I've got you now little missy. And there ain't nothin' you can do 'bout it."

Ain't nothin' my foot.

I quickly wiggled free and did the only thing the guy had coming from me since I saw him; I hauled off and slugged him.

It's now safe to say Mr. Bobble-head doesn't have anymore front teeth.

It fully serves him right. He fell to the dusty road with a thud as the contents of the bag clinked out. Gold coins. I figured as much.

I waited for half a minute and he didn't rise. I kicked his boot with my foot. 

He didn't move. 

Great. I had knocked him into unconsciousness. Whoever said that cowboys were made of tough stuff was totally on something.

At length I swooped down and picked up a few of the coins—you never know when you're gonna need cash—and grabbed the leather reins of his horse.

I've never been a big fan of animals but I sincerely was beginning to like this horse. Maybe for its strength and endurance, I don't know. But I wasn't planning on leaving it here with a swooning cowboy. That's as bad as animal abuse. Maybe worse.

The horse nickered at me and gently nudged my shoulder in a happy manner. I would have ridden the horse but it still seemed tired (and horses do not tire easily so that tells you it's been mistreated) and besides I don't know how to ride a horse.

That kinda put a damper on things. I could have made it to Carmel-by-the-Sea much faster if I had taken those riding lessons my mom offered me when I was thirteen right after I was found by New York's finest in an art museum stealing a horse sculpture because a troubled ghost claimed it was theirs.

But I should really stop living in the past.

Anyway, like I said before, I walked into the outskirts of Carmel in half an hour, with a horse trailing my footsteps.

Carmel didn't look as freaky and uncivilized as I had imagined but all the structures were constructed of wood planks, no concrete, steel or glass buildings and towers in sight. I admit that I was a tidbit overwhelmed as I led the horse through a small town with stores selling suits, shoes, dresses, tools (probably for the Gold Rush thing going on about this time in history), and a few bars and drug stores, which most likely wasn't quite like Longs or Safe-Way. I coughed a few times as horses drew up clouds of dust.

Men on horseback rode through the town, glancing at me occasionally, but stopping once I glared defiantly back at them, and women with children clutching their thick skirts walked close to the buildings and stores, avoiding contact with any of the riders. And a few horse-drawn carriages passed as I ambled through the town slowly but surely, soaking in all the daily business, talk and gestures of these simple before-electricity century people. 

The way they all talked was a scream!

Soon all the buildings, bars and stores began to thin out and I was now walking uphill. Taking a closer look at my surroundings I could distinctly tell that I was on familiar territory that I have been on hundreds of times before in the 21st century.

A huge, attractive wooden Victorian-style house with a turret and a widow's walk greeted my eyesight after a couple minutes. A few small pine tree saplings stood at the sides of the house, they'd grew to be large shady trees in time. A wooden sign hung from the porch front. On it was carved in old English text 'Farr From Home Inn.' Somebody sure can't spell.

I stopped abruptly in front of the place, making the horse snort loudly in my ear, and gasped, gazing up at my house. 99 Pine Crest Road.

Okay, all this gasping was starting to hurt my ribs and stomach since I was after all wearing a corset that sucked out my very life, so I immediately stopped.

Now, if I recall correctly from one of Doc's many speeches my house was built in 1849 to serve as a boarding house and it had a reputation of trouble. Gunfights and fistfights over card games, gambling or women and so on. Did I really want to set foot in this place? Looking like a nineteenth-century prostitute, I don't think I really did.

But what choice do I actually have? Where else can I go? 

No where, that's where. This sucks.

Hopefully I may be able to find Jesse once I checked in or rented a room in my future home, but I guess you never know. I might even be able to prevent his death or meet his family! Cool!

My confidence renewed, I tied up my horse on a wooden post, near two other horses, one a dappled gray, the other pure white with a water trough in front of them and entered the boarding house.

Upon entering the first thing I saw was a bar/tavern-like counter with a British man behind it. A few timber round tables were scattered before the counter. Men were seated around most of the tables with tankards of alcohol and card decks spread across the tabletops and in their hands. A few were arguing loudly with each other. Is this the front parlor where all those bar fights took place? In the corner was a grand piano; a man was playing on it while a lady in a pale sea foam green dress sang to the jingle.

And this was my future living room! Scary.

I walked to the counter. Okay, remember: this is the 1850s, no slang or anything like that. I have to be "civilized" and all that junk in order to blend in. 

Like that'll happen but I can try.

"Um, good afternoon, sir. I'd like to rent a room, if any are…available," I said smiling amiably.

"Good afternoon indeed, lady," the British man behind the counter replied in a somewhat bothered accent. "Do you know how many fights've occurred today because o' those blokes ov'r there? Four o' them! Good afternoon indeed!" He gestured to the tables wildly. "Oy, men! I'll be having none of that!" He yelled to them as one of the men who had been arguing earlier smashed a glass bottle over another's head.

I blinked at the British man, unsure of how to respond. 

"But where are my manners?" He grinned suddenly. "Forgive me. I'm Kay Farr, owner of this boarding house. Those two over there," (he pointed at the man and lady at the piano) "my sister and me cousin. They help me run this business and it's a good thing too, I need all the help I can get. Never knew it would be this difficult running an inn, what with all the work, we have to provide people with lodging, food—"

"Yeah, I'm sure it's quite a lot of work, but could you handle one more? I need a room. Please." It probably wasn't very nice to interrupt but come on, I was tired. I held out the gold coins. "I have a little bit of money but I'll help out with like washing dishes and uh, sweeping or cleaning to pay off a room or something."

He looked at me thoughtfully. I shifted under his gaze hoping he didn't really notice my attire. Kay seemed to be Jake's age but much more responsible, wiser and pleasant at least when he wasn't mad. He took from me the coins.

"This isn't enough but I suppose you can share a room with Anet. You won't cause much trouble, will you? She won't stand for it." He whistled and the girl who had been singing glanced at him inquisitively. She ceased her singing, said something to the guy on the piano then walked over to us. She looked about my age but much prettier than me, I hate to admit it. She had light blonde hair like Kay but unlike him she had a small delicate frame.

"What's amiss, Kay?" Her blue eyes narrowed. "Did another person break one of mother's plates? I swear to you Kay, so help me God if—"

Kay waved a hand hastily at her.

"No, nothin' of that sort, mercifully. I've only found you a new roommate, for the time bein'. She'll be assisting you with your chores and such. Her name is—beg pardon, but what's your name again, miss?"

I hadn't told him yet but maybe he was just trying to be polite. "It's Susannah. Susannah Simon."

"Hello, Susannah," the girl said with enthusiasm, shaking my hand in her firm grasp. "I am Anet Farr, I'm something like the greeter of people who stay at Farr From Home. I've never seen you around Carmel before; no doubt you're new here, hmm? What state did you come from? Judging from the condition of you're clothes I wouldn't be surprised if you've traveled all the way from the Big Apple herself!"

I had some trouble understanding all that Anet said because even though her English was unaccented unlike her brother's she talked very quickly. Like me, I realized with some disbelief. "Yes, I came from New York a few months ago, you could say." Well, I was trying to be honest.

"Lovely. Anet, can you show Miss Susannah to your room and inform her a bit on the work the two o' you will be doing 'round here?" Kay stared distracted at the table nearest the window. "I fear another fight's about to break lose. You'd better be leaving. This isn't a place for young ladies at this time."

Anet took my hand and directed me upstairs. Faintly I could hear Kay's deafening voice as he attempted to break up the fight.

"Don't mind, Kay," she stated unconcerned as we walked up the last few stairs and passed my future room (Jesse should be in there!) and Brad's room too. "He's been a worry wart lately, it's nothing personal. He's usually really very nice."

"You don't have to defend you're brother," I replied, my mind on what was behind my future bedroom door. Jesse! My heart throbbed painfully just at the though of him. Just beyond my reach! "He seemed…sweet, but so not my type."

Anet blinked at me curiously. "What?"

I could feel my face flush crimson. "Oh, um, nothing."

We passed where there should be the master bedroom and bathroom but instead there were two smaller bedrooms built out of that lone space.

She still looked a little bit suspicious so I changed the subject. "Are there any other people staying here at the Farr From Home Inn?" I asked trying to seem nonchalant.

Anet laughed good-naturedly. "Why, of course! We can't fit many people in but we have at least two or three in each of the five rooms. But not all of those men downstairs actually board here. That would be mayhem indeed! No, most come throughout the day to eat and drink. Kay brews some of the best beer ever tasted says my cousin, Derek. But I wouldn't really believe him, if I were you." She lowered her voice even though no one could hear us. "He's something of a charmer, if you understand me. 'T'would be wise to avoid him."

"Okay…so your cousin helps around here too, right? Kay told me that at least, but who else resides here?"

"At the moment? Only four others that I'm aware of. An elderly couple, and two men. A Mr. Benjamin Nightingale and a Mr. Hector de Silva. But only three rooms are being used since the couple share one." She lowered her voice again and she placed her hand on the doorknob of Doc's future room. "You may want to remain quiet because the elder are sleeping right now. It's nearly dusk."

She opened the door. "This is my room, you'll be sharing it with me. I hope you don't mind, it's small but still comfy."

She's right it was but elegantly so. With a lace canopy bed and a mahogany dressing table with a mirror and a small chest of clothing, it looked even better than my room!

"No, I like it. It's very nice and simple…which is a good thing."

Anet blushed slightly at this compliment. "Well, seeing as you haven't brought any suitcases or effects with you, you can borrow a few of my dresses and" --she looked down at my feet—"a pair of shoes. I won't miss them." She handed to me shoes that didn't have heels or anything, they felt like buckskin, and two dresses much like the one I wore except these were in much better condition. One was pale blue the other a light pink. Very pretty, yet very heavy too.

"Wow, Anet. Thanks!" I was genuinely touched so I gave her a swift hug, making her blush again, which caused her pastel cheeks to shade a soft red color.

"You need them more than I do. Just hurry and change, then I can show you around downstairs and explain the chores we'll be doing together. I'll be back shortly. I think I'll check up on Kay…"

"Alright. Thanks again," I called as she shut the door and walked away.

Quickly I discarded my brown dress which took a minute because I had to untie, unlace and unbutton each layer of clothe but thankfully Anet's dress wasn't as complicated to put on and within five minutes I was ready. But I wasn't planning on going down to find Anet yet. Not to do chores, please. I never go willingly to chores.

No, I had it in my mind to find a different person. Jesse.

Soundlessly I put on the shoes and opened the door then closed it behind me as I entered the hallway. Like a cat sneaking up on a mouse I crept to the door of my future bedroom. Taking a deep breath I opened the door and found…

…No one in sight.

Yup, no Jesse or anything. Just a brown leather suitcase, an undecorated bed with a wool blanket and a wooden set of dresser drawers against a wall that was ornamented with only a framed portrait of the Ten Commandments which I had also seen in Anet's room so it didn't belong to Jesse.

"Hellooo? Jesse? Somebody?" I lightly stepped inside and since no one was there I decided to investigate the room.

Picking up the suitcase I studied it. The initials H.D.S. was imprinted on the side of it in bold black stamp. Hector de Silva. I was about to set it back down on the bed when I noticed a tan piece of parchment where the suitcase had lay. Odd. Placing the suitcase gingerly to the side I picked up the parchment.

Farr From Home Inn December 7th 1849 

_Mr. H. de Silva you have checked in the morning of_

_December 7th1849 before the noon meal as it's_

_negotiated beforehand. Date of leave unconfirmed _

_as of now yet the day of January 22nd 1850 may be a_

_possibility. Final date of departure will be confirmed _

_approximately three days before actual departure. _

_Hoping you have an unforgettable stay at _Farr From 

Home Inn_, sincerely,_

_Kay B. Farr_

_Owner and Founder of _Farr From Home Inn

That must be what a receipt looks like in this time period. It seems kind of hostile to me but to each his own, I suppose.

I held onto the receipt and walked over to the bay window facing the sea. This window much have been torn down before the 21st century because it was ancient and rather fragile, not something to be touched and the window I had in the 21st century, I was always leaning against it. There also wasn't any bay seat underneath the window, which was a pity. How was I supposed to admire the breath-taking view without a seat I ask you?

A slightly husky voice broke my train of thought. "Excuse me, _hola_, but this is my room."

I whirled around and stashed the receipt behind my back. "Jesse!" I cried happily seeing his tall form standing comfortably in the doorway as if he had been there always. He looked positively stunningly handsome even though he had a placid yet vaguely goaded look on his tan brown face and I had the impulse to run right over to him and give him a big hug and a kiss but somehow I was able to control myself.

His expression changed instantly as I said his nickname without thinking about it. From goaded and calm to relatively interested. "I beg your pardon, _señorita_, do I know you?"

I flushed, annoyed with myself. 

"Uh…no." I said slowly thinking up an excuse that might foil Jesse's analyzing mind. "But you see, um…Anet told me a little bit about you and—"

Jesse smiled self-assuredly at me, which caused my heart to skip a beat and robbed me of breath. "I didn't tell _Señorita_ Anet that my name was 'Jesse'. I'm Hector to her."

"Oh." I held up my hands in an I-surrender gesture, with a mischievous grin. "Alright, Hector," I said at length, using his proper name for his amusement, "you caught me red handed. I read your receipt. I am deeply ashamed of myself. My mother always said I shouldn't snoop but what do I do once on my own? I—"

It was another lie but didn't _you_ believe it? But Jesse saw right through me like I was an open book.

"On the receipt it doesn't say 'Jesse,' _el dama_. It doesn't clearly state my name."

Damn. He got me there. I was racking my brain for a foolproof idea but Jesse didn't seem to care anymore how or why I knew his name.

"What is your name, _señorita,_ since you seem to know mine so well_? _And why do I come back from the parlor to find you in my room, hmm?" He was polite and gentlemanly, just like he was when I first me him.

"I'm Susannah Simon. And this belongs to you." I handed him the receipt, purposefully not answering why I was in his room. "Uh, sorry, I looked at it."

"Thank you, _Señorita_ Susannah," Jesse replied lightly as he took from me his receipt, his large brown hand brushing my own as he did so.

Jesse peered at my hands, with his scared eyebrow raised slightly in a respectfully curious manner.

"That's peculiar."

"What's pecu—oh, crap."

Because right then, at that very moment, a glistening ghostly spectator figure appeared behind Jesse.

Joan.

*************************************************

Again, I sincerely apologize for this chapter being long and I hope you have enjoyed it (as I made it extra long in hopes that you will all find it in your big ol' hearts to forgive my tardy update). 

And I had extra special fun creating this chapter because it has a lot of inside jokes that most people probably won't get except for me but whatever. Don't mind me.

Review, please?


	4. Manners Matter

> **Horror Vacui**
> 
> A/N: Aww, you guys rock! And I seriously mean that, dudes. Not only because you read my story and apparently _like_ it but come on, what other author get so many long reviews? And you guys review on a daily bases unlike me. (I know, shame shame. But what can I say? I'm faulty.) You guys are my loyal subjects and that's what makes you guys rock so much!
> 
> **Arda Silverlace:** -gasp- I wouldn't kill off one of my characters, never! I'm even having a difficult time coming up with the nerve to off Jesse. I don't think it's going to happen. Besides I love all my characters, love 'em like they're my lovely pets. I had a blast creating Anet and Kay (and Derek) who may be coming in this chapter. You never know. I like the fact that Jesse is more confident and out-spoken when he's alive too. Being a ghost made him coy, in my opinion.
> 
> **NiceHayley**: Heh, it seems a lot of people like Anet, she's so likeable. And it's a deal, here's the next chapter but I don't know if it's soon enough for all my supporters. What say you?
> 
> **Esodes08**: I like long chapters as well; it seems more worth the wait. Uh huh, I agree completely. I love Jesse's meeting Suze; it's so memorable and sweet! But what happens next may not be so sweet . . .read on to see why.
> 
> **Chayter, Musicgirl141, KC, LinkinParkGurlie, SuRfgUrL1, & Aes13sb**: Thanks for the awesome compliments, my loyal subjects. It's enough to get a simple girl, like me, egotistical. Very egotistical.
> 
> **Starr**: Reviews don't have to be helpful comments; at least I don't think so. If a review is just funny and witty and helps cheer up the author, make 'em laugh relentlessly, hey, then it's a fabulous review! Thanks for a fabulous review, Starr!
> 
> **Foolish Fish**: -shrugs- Um, it's possible? I honestly don't know, but I'd like to think an athletic girl like Suze could get ready like that –snaps fingers- since she was in a hurry to find Jesse. But I'd also like to think that Suzie could get dressed that quickly, just for the sake of me being right. Sad, isn't it? But thanks for reviewing!
> 
> **Coca-Cola Classic**: Ooh, I get shivers down my spine from reading your review. All the swooning and the squealing and the capitalized words? Very entertaining to read, girl. You should run for President of America or something. You could win for sure with your bubbly-ness. I'd vote for you.
> 
> Derek? –wrinkles nose- He hasn't even appeared yet. And I'm letting Arda portray him. I hope she makes him to your liking. He should be very charismatic if you get my drift.
> 
> **Mystique Anqelique (Gothic Granny** I should say**)**: I like it when Paul and Jesse face off, it's like a duel or something. It's amusing. But 'vacui' is Latin for 'void'. I don't really think the title matches the story yet but I'm workin' on it.
> 
> **Dark Neko Jin**: Okay okay okay okay okay okay okay! Yikes, man. Somebody needs therapy. Lol.
> 
> **Poeticdreams**: Well, please continue on reading! The more the merrier.
> 
> **Indigomisery**: Tsk, tsk. Oh, sorry dear. But 'fraid I can't tell you about those inside jokes. Nobody will know, ever. I shall keep them all till my death! Muwhahahaha!!!
> 
> A/N: I think it's about time we give little Suzie a break from telling her tale. She's going to be weary at the end of this chapter anyway. It's Jesse's turn for a while.
> 
> _Chapter Four: Manners Matter_
> 
> **Jesse's POV!**
> 
> My eyebrows went far up as _Señorita _(A/N: Isn't it just adorable? Jesse even calls Suze by the proper way in his mind!!!)Susannah cussed, her emerald eyes narrowing in grievance and my previous thought was briefly forgotten as I studied her.
> 
> This was not a normal maiden, if the reaction she gave after uttering the curse was any indication. But the moment I had laid eyes on her, riveted by the sea, I sensed she was unlike others. Witty, beautiful, unruffled, bright, _encantador_ and valiant this young lady amazed me.
> 
> She didn't clap her hand over her mouth, ashamed as my sisters often were after expressing such words, but nor did she smile boldly, challengingly, as filthy strumpets do when vying for a man's attention. She merely glared intensely, outwardly annoyed, at some point beyond my right shoulder, unaware of me, it would seem.
> 
> Curious at what had caught her interest, I glanced over my shoulder . . . and spotted nothing abnormal. No one was standing in the doorway or the room and nothing in my care was missing. I strained to make out if anything dreadful was going on in the parlor, but Kay wasn't yelling, at least not loudly and –_Dios_ be praised— no gunshots were fired within hearing range.
> 
> Then what was amiss?
> 
> "_Señorita_? Are you in pain? Is something ailing you?" I questioned with concern, taking a few steps closer. Occasionally my oldest sisters suffer from stomach pains once a month, which is normal for a young lady, I am told. I presumed that this was Susannah's affliction for her expression looked akin to that of my sisters' during this period of time each month. (A/N: I hope you gals know what he's talking about.)
> 
> Her gaze flickered towards me and then behind me yet again. She held a hand out in front of her stomach suddenly, palm forward, as if secretly signaling for someone to wait but then, just as swiftly, she lowered her hand and flashed me a smile that didn't reach her bewitching eyes.
> 
> "Oh, I'm fine Jesse, but . . .uh, now that you mention it, I do feel a tiny bit uh, tipsy. I'll be back in a sec, okay?"
> 
> Half of that I did not understand, but I politely restrained myself from questioning her further since her eyes still held a vehement glint within them and I'd rather not distress her more.
> 
> "I understand, Susannah," I replied evenly, with a slight nod. I was still somewhat puzzled on what she was doing in my room but I had a feeling I'd see her again, so I wasn't too depressed. "But you need not return, I'm sure you have more addressing matters at the moment. It is very nice to have met you, though."
> 
> "No!" _Señorita_ Susannah cried swiftly, appearing upset for some reason. She cursed under her breath again, prettily, naïve of the fact that I heard her whether she cared or not. She collected herself. "Uh, I mean, no, don't worry, I'll be back soon. I mean, no matters that need addressing for me whatsoever but, ugh . . . Just hold on, okay Jesse? I'll be back soon."
> 
> Then she hastily walked around me and as I turned around to watch her leave, she seemed to be holding or dragging something out with her as she walked out the room.
> 
> But I'm sure this was only my imagination.
> 
> **Suze's POV**
> 
> I hauled Joan, by her arm, to the door of Anet's room, out of Jesse's hearing and hopefully Anet's as well. But Joan didn't take this treatment quietly and was fighting me the whole way.
> 
> It's a good thing the girl's a ghost or else everyone from the bottom of Farr From Home Inn to the tip top would come running at me, trying to figure out who was screaming bloody murder. I admit, I was squeezing her arm a little bit harder than necessary, but come on; she chose to come now out of all the other possible opportunities? If she had found me during my long walk to Carmel then I could've helped her solve her problems (which were looking mighty insignificant at this moment) and be done with her. No more mediating for Suzie.
> 
> But _no. _Materialize to Suze when she's flirting with Jesse, why don't you?
> 
> I so hate her right now. Worst than Paul even. At least Paul has a reason to interrupt my happiness, but not Joan. She has no right, not even a little iota of justification for it. How did she end up here anyway?
> 
> And did she catch those death glares I was shooting her way like nuclear missiles hoping she'd somehow get the message and skedaddle? Not a chance. So I had to leave Jesse!
> 
> You know what they say: First impressions are lasting impressions. And I made a huge tragedy outta my first impression with Jesse. I must've looked like a complete lunatic scowling at the wall. What if the next time I see Jesse he's a ghost? What then, huh?
> 
> "What are you, a poltergeist?!" I whispered to her, furiously. "How'd you get here, Joan and why must you bug me _now _of all times?"
> 
> Joan looked only a tiny bit reproachful, rubbing her arm, tenderly then smoothing out her blue top –oh sure, _she_ gets to keep her nice 21st century finery and she's dead, but I have to endure like four layers of clothe— before she responded.
> 
> "I came here the same time you did, duh." Then her eyes widened in excitement. "But oh my God! Do you know where we are? The Wild West! Where'd you get that dress? It's so pretty— can I have one? But isn't this awesome? All the cowboys, bar fights, duels and Indians, I could just die of the thrill!"
> 
> Obviously she still wasn't fully able to register the fact that she actually was dead.
> 
> I mentally groaned. I was practically forced out here, away from Jesse, by my God given 'gift' to hear what? An immature teen going on and on about nothing important. I won't stand for it, I tell you.
> 
> "Joan! Just shut up and tell me why you came looking for me during my history class and then near the forest by the Mission Academy, and then here again now. Is it because of your death 'cause I so can't solve that problem right now. If you haven't noticed we aren't apart of that civilized era anymore."
> 
> This comment must've poked her in her sorest spot because she flashed me a loathsome look, then glowered at the wooden floorboards.
> 
> "Yeah," she mumbled glumly to the floor, looking like she was going to fly into waterworks at a moments notice. (What did I tell you? Moody, isn't she? Happy then angry then sad all in less than three minutes!)
> 
> Then she blew a fuse.
> 
> "It's not fair! He was the one driving the piece of junk, not me! But did he die?" She barked out a dry laugh wiping at her eyes, which were moist. "As if! It isn't fair, I want revenge. You have to find him, mediator! Then kill him."
> 
> "Whoa, I'm not killing anyone, Joan. It's always been something I prefer not to do and so far I've been pretty good at avoiding it. He's probably not even alive here! And who said life was fair? No—"
> 
> "But you have to! Please! He didn't die and he deserves death more than I do! You have to."
> 
> And with that Joan dematerialized with a last pleading look at me.
> 
> "Um, it would help a lot if you gave me a name." I told the spot where she had just stood.
> 
> But whatever, it's not important now. I'm sure I'll be seeing her again, no doubt to finish what's been started.
> 
> I peeked inside Anet's room to make sure she hadn't heard this 'one-sided conversation.' She wasn't there so that means I have like ten minutes before I have to go find her, right? I convinced myself of this anyway and started off in the direction of Jesse's room, _my_ future room. But I froze in my tracks upon hearing a disappointingly familiar voice.
> 
> "Ah, so you're an atheist, I assume, sir?"
> 
> Okay, that wasn't the sad part. That was Jesse, he's nice. I'm glad I know him, not disappointed. My heart does a little tap dance when I hear his lovely Latino voice. But the voice that answered Jesse's question wasn't so nice.
> 
> "I prefer the title of 'infidel', actually. I wouldn't say I have any religious beliefs. Religion is just something pitiful people use to fill in the missing gaps of their lives. Can't say I blame them."
> 
> Paul.
> 
> I sprang over to them before Paul could say anything else to further irritate Jesse. Jesse happens to be a firm believer in God and the Christian religion and I could just tell from the sound of his voice that he was peeved.
> 
> And I didn't even have a clue what they were talking about!
> 
> Paul and Jesse were standing in the hallway outside Jesse's room both staring at each other. Jesse had his arms crossed in front of his chest looking rather affronted but Paul appeared amused.
> 
> "Suze!" Paul said, noticing me for the first time, the amused twinkle in his eyes growing, uh . . .twinklier. "Glad you could join us."
> 
> Oh.
> 
> My.
> 
> God.
> 
> "Paul," I said aware that Jesse's eyebrow was arched in uncertainty and trying hard to keep the frustration and surprise concealed from my voice, "What are you doing here?"
> 
> And believe you me. I was irked at Paul so it was really tough to appear to be on good terms with him, being the amoral butt munch he was. (A/N: Immature, yes, but say it out loud. Butt munch. Come on. You gotta love it.) I fingered the jeweled silver ring on my thumb absentmindedly, staring daggers at him.
> 
> "I've come here to see you of course. Why else would I have reason to show my face?"
> 
> To ruin my nineteenth century life.
> 
> But I didn't say that aloud because Paul had somehow managed to smoothly slip his strong, muscular left arm around my shoulder without my noticing.
> 
> Jesse's eyebrow shot up further, like an arrow, looking bemused and concerned.
> 
> I gave Paul a look that I hope read, 'Don't try that again if you treasure the way your anatomy is arranged,' and then quickly shrugged his arm off.
> 
> Jesse was watching us, studiously. Oh, great now he'll assume we're like 'together' or something and I'm just mad at Paul for some weird reason. Can this get any worst?
> 
> Jesse met my gaze; his incredibly dark eyes were unreadable yet he suddenly looked dismal and somber.
> 
> "It was a pleasure talking to the both of you, but," he looked away, his voice low, "I just remembered something that needs attending to. Perhaps later we can continue this conversation, _señor,_ you are staying here too, yes?" Paul concurred, smirking. "Then I may see you later, sir. Good day, _Señorita._" He nodded towards Paul and smiled briefly at me. Then left. Just like that.
> 
> As if he was a ghost again. _(Aww.)_
> 
> Perfect. I had jinxed the situation.
> 
> It's all Paul's bloody fault!
> 
> And I'm not going to stand for another lone minute with him. I strode away towards Anet's room.
> 
> But Paul unfortunately followed me, grinning triumphantly. Can't he take a hint? Apparently not.
> 
> "Go away, Slater," I growled. "I don't want to talk to you."
> 
> Paul laughed and grabbed my arm. Why does he always laugh at me? It's not like I'm here in life for his sole amusement. "Suze, you're acting like a kid. What's your problem?"
> 
> I squared my jaw. "I suffer no problems that cannot be solved by your departure. Now if you excuse me," I jerked my arm away, "I have something that I must do."
> 
> "Oh, really? And what is that?"
> 
> "I must tend to my horse." Spare of the moment thought. Aren't I good?
> 
> "Your horse? I didn't know you had a horse," he sounded pleased for some reason, which thoroughly freaked me out. "Well, you know this isn't the way downstairs, don't you?"
> 
> Fudge! (-insert colorful 4-lettered word here-) I really felt like screaming and tearing my hair out at the injustice of it all.
> 
> Luckily, for me at least, when I opened the door of Anet's bedroom I was greeted by her bright blonde head.
> 
> "Susannah? Where have you been? Oh- " She noticed Paul behind me. "Hello, Mr. Slater. Lost your way, have you? You're rooming in that one." She pointed at one of the doors where the future master bedroom would be.
> 
> Annoyance at being thought of as a simple minded fool flashed through Paul's blue eyes briefly, but within seconds he was showing off his trademark smile again. I swear, what a phony. How can anyone fall for such a fake smile? I mean, sure its nice and clean and white and straight but he probably flosses like ten times a day to keep it that way. That's wasting a lot of floss. Especially since girls fall for him just for the hot body. Not that I would know.
> 
> I don't.
> 
> Really.
> 
> Oh, shut up and quit laughing.
> 
> "No, actually. I'm not lost. Only admiring the lovely individuals here at the Farr From Home Inn." This made Anet blush but I just rolled my eyes. How lame.
> 
> "Yeah, right. Whatever. See you later, Paul." And I headed downstairs with as much dignity as I could muster which wasn't much since I tripped on the dress seam. Twice.
> 
> I heard Anet say something to Paul then she appeared behind me looking annoyed. We were already near the parlor by then. "That wasn't very polite, Susannah. Mr. Slater's staying here and as an employee you must respect and be courtesy to all customers. It is one of the many unspoken rules here. A mores, you could say." (A/N: Look it up, loyal subjects! Pronounced more-ay.)
> 
> She must have a crush on Paul.
> 
> I blinked. "I don't know what a mores is." Then remembering what Kay said about Anet being a no-nonsense person I quickly added, "but sorry. I'll be nicer next time." Hopefully there isn't another next time.
> 
> Anet seemed satisfied with this response and motioned for me to follow her as she walked behind the counter. Kay glanced at us and a man with startling green eyes beside him winked at me as we passed them. "Very well," she sighed. "I'll explain to you your chores while your living here."
> 
> Oh, goodie. Chores.
> 
> * * *

A/N: I apologize for taking a month to update. I probably shouldn't remind you guys how long I take but whatever. Any guesses who the winking stranger is? You guys know probably but you'll have to wait till the next chapter to know for sure. Aren't I evil?

If there are any Lord of the Rings fans out there don't forget that the _Return of the King_ comes out on DVD and video today! Toodles!

Oh, and don't mind the chapter title. It's kinda funky. And sorry this chapter ends kinda sudden. But the more reviews I get the more I'll be willing to shirk my last bits of homework to finish up the next chapter.


	5. Taking Care of Business

**Horror Vacui**

A/N: 'Sup, dudes and dudettes! You wanna know what I've decided to do? I'll tell you. But don't get all flustered at me, I as a writer can't handle more stress than the stress I give myself. I've thought about it for a while and I think it would save us all a lot of time and space if I just started on the story instead of going on and on about nothing. Hope none of you all mind too much.

Oh, and isn't that book club Meg Cabot set up the best?! No other author I know is that committed to her readers. Now that's what I call love, man.

And yet again I must apologize for my incredibly long, long, LONG absence. It's my entire fault. I can never devote myself to one thing at a time. It's so sad. They're trying to find a cure but so far there hasn't been any success. . . Hah, you know I'm joking, right?

A/N: And I just want to add that right now I'm watching LOTR: Return of the King again!!!!!! Oh yeah! Who rocks? ARAGORN DOES!!!

* * *

_Chapter Five: Taking Care of Business_

Chores, said Anet. That's what she called it. Yeah right. More like 'everlasting careers'.

Do you actually know how _hard_ it is to just boil water in the 1800s? No, of course you don't, you weren't alive here. This is the kinda work your great-great grandmother was probably doing. But still. It's like really hard.

First you have to drag a few bucket loads of cold water from a stream after scooping that water outta the stream and then I have to filter the water so we don't end up boiling any gold nuggets or rocks or anything (as if that would be such a huge disaster). And that's really a strain on my arms since I don't have as much upper body strength as I pretend to. I'm more the kick boxing type of girl then the regular ol' boxing type.

But that's not the half of it. Then you gotta lug the water back to the Inn and start up the gas stove (which might I add is no piece of cake with this kind of technology). In all, that takes about . . .an hour a trip, give or take some. I have to do this _every_ day from now on.

That and serve food.

Anet gave me that job since she figured I could fend for myself and not get harassed or raped by any cowboys (probably because I was so "rude" to Paul). She says that happens a lot here. The raping, not the Paul thing. But I guess I shouldn't be so surprised since it's still true in the 21st century except it's not only cowpokes doing the harassing.

Whatever. I'll get used to this. Jesse's here. I can put up with anything for Jesse. Even outhouses and no electricity (but without a blow dryer and makeup and a denim skirt I'm going to be like hideously ugly). And Paul.

Ick.

But I persuaded Anet to give me the 411 on Jesse-- not in those particular words, of course-- as she was explaining to me my chores and she confessed that today Jesse had checked in and would be staying for a month or so to visit his family here. She also said that Kay and "Hector" had been friends for a few years now and that Jesse's family wasn't poor or rich so he could have stayed at a grander inn but chose to come here because of their friendship.

Well, I couldn't detect any friendship in the receipt Jesse got from Kay. Maybe I'm just ignorant to this sort of stuff. Male friendship stuff, I mean. Sounds a bit complicated to me.

At any rate, hauling around water back and forth is no easy task. Already I was clumsy enough to drop the bucket three times thus having to go back and refill it then walk to the inn again, cursing all the while. I told Anet when I returned to the inn kitchen that it was useless to make me do this what with my ineptitude but she only looked amused and stated, "Only another bucket to fill and bring back, Susannah. Then you are done for today."

Whoopee.

But did I mention that the stream is like a quarter of a mile away from the Inn? Well, it is. And I made four trips to the stream, which is like two miles round trip. Woe for my poor feet. I won't be able to wear Prada or Jimmy Choo shoes ever again without wincing or limping.

This is worse than the walking I had to do to get away from Paul; at least I was only walking on pavement, instead of sharp rocks heated by the afternoon sun.

Nonetheless I did what I was ordered to do, even though none of this water was gonna be used to create a hot bath for me (and I really do deserve a bath after this). The water would be today's supply for food making because you need hot water to boil potatoes and noodles and so on.

I really feel like one of the Seven Dwarfs in Snow White with this kind of task. Hi ho hi ho, it's off to work I go. La la la la la la la la hi ho hi ho hi ho hi ho...... Oh, God, kill me now and be done with it!

You know, it's no picnic, this chore. Nope. And what makes it even more tiresome is that little tune that I now have stuck in my head. And you know what I found out? I become oafish when I'm tired and distracted by annoying songs.

And that's my excuse for stumbling and dropping the bucket.

"Crap."

I was tired. I was too tired to lift my left foot a few millimeters higher up in the air to avoid hitting my foot against a stone. Sad isn't it? It's the true though. I'm a lazy bum. Thus, I ended up stumbling.

Oh, yeah. Little Miss Graceful indeed.

Go me.

But I didn't fall flat on my weary face, like I deserved to. And the bucket did not land loudly on the dusty ground, spilling the weighty water. Nuh-uh.

A pair of lightly tanned hands reached out from apparently nowhere and prevented the bucket from spilling more than a few drops of water and then quickly steadied me. I glanced up momentarily and, disappointed to see that my rescuer wasn't Jesse, yet so _so_ relieved to see that he wasn't Paul either, I smiled briefly.

"Kay really shouldn't leave this type of work to damsels like yourself. Faces as lovely as yours should be in the parlor entertaining," stated the guy with a well-placed grin.

Huh? I blinked and looked at the man again. Hey! This was that dude with green eyes who I had seen in the parlor, beside Kay who had winked at me. Huh. Why'd he wink at me? Do I know him? Was he in cahoots with Paul or even Diego?

Despite my sudden suspicions I have to admit the guy's best feature was his eyes. They were an interesting green color with honey colored flecks around their dark centers (probably the same sort of eyes people say I have). His face had good lines too and could be have been considered handsome if his nose was not been broken and set slightly apart probably from a bar fight. (A/N: This description is for you, Coca-Cola Classic and all you other Derek fans. Some of you guys thought that the winking stranger was Suze's dad or even possibly Diego? Wow, clearly you guys have a better imagination than I do.)

"Um, thanks." I said, warily as he took the bucket from me. "Do I, uh, know you?"

The guy let out a small chuckle of laughter. He was about my age, maybe Jesse's. "Well, you should. I know who you are. The lady Susannah. Anet's told me a bit about you, she said you might need help. Clearly she wasn't mistaken." He looked me up and down then took my hand and kissed it.

Okay, weird.

That was uncalled for and utterly random. This better be some sort of common greeting here or this guy's nose is going to be even farther apart than it is now. "I'm Derek, at your service, miss Susannah."

Oh, right. Anet's cousin. Derek 'the Charmer'. Huh, makes sense.

Heh, sorry. False alarm. His nose will stay where it is. For now.

Boy, am I paranoid.

"Right, well, hey, Derek. If you could just continue carrying that bucket the rest of the way to the Inn, that'll be super."

Derek looked happy enough to oblige me, saying, impishly, "yes, ma'am," and he held the cumbersome bucket with one hand effortlessly, standing straight and tall, unlike me; I had been hunched up with two hands on the handle, sadly enough, practically crying from the weight of the water.

Well, no, not crying. Maybe I'm just being histrionic but whatever.

I could now walk freely, --sort of, this damn dress weighs me down—and the slight breeze from the ocean was comforting as well.

Derek made small talk on the way to the Inn. He told me airily that the mule they used to cart around the buckets full of water had died a few weeks ago, which had caused Kay to become even more austere then before.

Lovely, just my luck. I'm being used as mule, now. Great.

Hee haw.

I asked him what he did here, to help Kay, hoping he'd know something about Jesse, too. He shrugged charismatically, and replied, "When Anet sings I play the piano, I'm quite good at it actually, it's not my intent to brag though. I could play for you sometime....only for you, if you like." I raised my eyebrows, indifferently.

This Derek kinda reminded me of a nineteenth century Adam, except subtler and not as loud. He added quickly with an impressed grin tweaking at his mouth, "Or not. But I also run Inn errands for Kay and help him break up bar fights." And that was my chance to turn the topic to Jesse.

"Right, so, uh, has that guy, J-Hector," I remembered this time not to call him Jesse, "ever been in a fight here or caused trouble?" Okay, not so subtle myself, I admit it but that didn't stop him from giving me an answer.

"De Silva? Not a chance in he- erm, never," he finished lamely, dropping his elegant act momentarily.

What? He can't say 'hell' in front of a girl? It's not proper here? Tuh, forget propriety!

"Excuse me? What were you about to say?" I asked politely. "'Hell?' Not a chance in hell? Well, that's good to know. I take it you know him then. Can you tell me about him?"

Derek glanced momentarily my way, after I had said this, his look one mixed of suppressed perplexity and also kind of admiration. "I might've known you were a cut above the rest," he said, shifting the bucket to his other hand.

Before I could even ask what that was supposed to mean he continued, "Well, Jesse's a nice enough fellow. He has a huge family, loads of sisters, and has known Kay for quite a while now." He counted on him fingers. "Five years, I believe. Yeah, and he comes and goes ordinarily 'cause his family owns a ranch, great ranch by the way, best beef I've ever tasted."

He glanced at me, curiously, his green eyes twinkling, freakishly like Paul's. "Why so interested, miss?" When I couldn't think up an answer quick enough his eyes became even brighter, if possible. "What? You fancy, de Silva, Susannah? Is that it?"

In response I questioned, feebly, hoping he would get distracted, "What about his sisters? What are their names?"

No luck.

Derek just laughed triumphantly and I looked ahead for the Inn, not yet in view. "I thought as much! Knew so when you wouldn't respond to my desirable charm." He grinned again and spotting my less than happy mood added, amicably, "Don't worry. I won't tell Anet. She fancies him as well. Wouldn't wish to ruin a newly found friendship, would I? Anet would have my hide...and tan it too."

Before I could say anything he went on to tell me anything he knew about the de Silva girls. I knew there were five of them, of course, at various ages but I was excited to learn those exact names and ages. Here's the list:

Alita- 16

Isabel- 14

Neva- 12

Elaine- 8

Nina- 5

I wanted to learn more about their personalities, wondering if any of them had Jesse's calm manner and intelligent mind, but all Derek told me was about Alita's gorgeous figure.

Men. Honestly. What even made him think I'd care?

And, um, hello? What happened to hot Suze? Hi, yeah. I'm still here. Don't mean to interrupt your little Alita fantasy Derek, but weren't you just flirting with me a mere five minutes ago? Not that I care but still. Pay attention often?

'Easy come, easy go,' in this world I guess.

I bet Jesse'd seriously hate to hear Derek talk about his oldest younger sister this way. Probably blow a fuse and start walloping him viciously.

I wonder if Jesse ever thinks about me in the way Derek talks about Alita. . .hmm. That would be nice.

Derek was going on about Alita's "lovely almond sun-kissed skin" and her "voluptuous womanly curves," (ew, EWW, too much detail!!!) and I was about to tell him to shut up and grab the bucket from him then dump it on his head for good measure too, when the Inn appeared ahead.

I hurried forward and gave Anet a heads up that I had met her cousin and he was going on about Alita and to please make him stop before _I_ did.

Anet waved a flour-covered hand at me, distractedly. "Don't worry 'bout Derek if he goes sniffing about your skirts." -Um, ew?!- "He can charm the spots off a dog, and he certainly tries to, but he's really enamored with that de Silva girl for reasons I cannot fathom."

Uh...okay. Off topic much? "Riiight, then, I'm just gonna go if you don't need my help here...." I informed her slowly heading towards the exit.

"Oh, no, Susannah," Anet stated, waggling a floury finger at me. "You'll need to boil the rest of that water and then help me bake this bread then serve it when it's done. You're not getting off that easily."

Damn it. "Fine," I stated, my escape thwarted anyway as Derek entered, passing me the loathsome bucket of water.

I added, in a clipped tone, "But someone has to take care of my horse. The dark one in the front. Some cowboy scumbag barely fed it and I was too softhearted to let it starve myself." Do I regret that decision? No, I now have a horse and I save its life. The horse owes me big time. What kind of girl didn't want a pet pony when she was little?

Um. A Suze kind of girl?

Anet flicked flour at Derek to get his attention and some of it landed in his light brown hair. Not that he noticed, he was obviously still thinking about Alita, so Anet elbowed him roughly and not so nicely.

"Did you hear the girl, Derek? Hell's bells, Derek, you have got to leave that Alita de Silva alone. One unlucky day Hector will find out 'bout you're affair with her and you'll be dead." Ah, brotherly (or is it 'cousinly' love in this case?) love. You gotta love it.

Grinning roguishly, Derek wiped the flour out of his hair. "And I suppose you wouldn't lift up a finger to prevent my death, would you, Anet?" Anet turned crimson through the flour on her cheeks and I couldn't help but laugh a bit. Poor thing blushes too easily.

Derek smiled and added, "Don't worry. I'll have Susannah to prevent my death, won't I, Susannah?" He winked at me, clearly knowing that there were two girls here who liked Jesse more than him. And he was perfectly okay with it.

Before I could respond with an akward, 'Um, no you won't', he left.

But that comment of Derek's (that, "I'll have Susannah to prevent my death..." thing), really got me thinking about what I'd do, what choices I had, concerning Jesse and his death.

December 7th 1849. Today's date. Jesse died in 1850 but what time, what day, what _month,_ I don't know. Aww. My Jesse! He might die in like a month and I might be able to do something to prevent it but then I'd never open the door to my Carmel bedroom and see his strong calloused hands, stunningly gorgeous smile, dark chocolate eyes, or hot body ever again!

You know, this is the type of agony that makes girls commit suicide. Or cut themselves.

If I just let Jesse die by the hands of that witchy Maria and her boy toy Diego, or if I'm too late to stop them, Jesse will become a ghost and therefore I'll meet him once again in the future (yay!). But then I'd be cheating him out of a long, happy, successful life where he could marry and have children and uphold the de Silva line and basically enjoy life. I mean, he died in the prime of life. Before, actually. How sad is that? I'd feel so guilty hoodwinking the love of my life (his afterlife) of life itself!

Anet ruptured these frazzled thoughts, informing me tersely that I still haven't boiled that water. So, I promptly did so, casting her a badgered look, then assisted her with baking the bread. She makes delicious bread for someone my age. Better than store bought bread. It smelt heavenly, really.

Which reminds me, I haven't eaten anything all day since like at three pm in the future. I wonder what time it is now? Must be like 4pm for some reason since it is still quite sunny.

How odd.

I tore off a huge hunk of the freshly baked loaf of bread, while Anet wasn't looking and was about to stuff it all quickly into my mouth but Anet slapped me hard on the back, causing me to cough violently on what little I had consumed.

"Jeez," I wheezed, tears of discomfort forming in my eyes, giving her a reproachful look once I could breath again. "Do you wanna kill me or something? I haven't eaten all day. Call that hospitality?"

Anet just rolled her eyes at me, which is something I didn't think they did back in this time. She handed me a wooden tray with slices of the yummy bread on chipped plates and dark raspberry-colored liquid in wooden cups on it.

"Eat later," she stated taciturnly with little sympathy for my current state. "Duty first." And she pushed me out the kitchen and to the parlor.

I shot her another obloquious look even though she was already heading back to the kitchen, probably to cook or bake something else, so she didn't see it. Boy, it's much louder in the parlor with all these rowdy cowboys than in the kitchen where the loudest thing is the gas stove.

I inspected the atmosphere of the parlor which was basically turbulent and pugnacious. Spotting Kay and Derek talking (is that all Derek does?) near the front, I walked over to them, ignoring most of the whistling imbeciles, occasionally kicking a cowboy boot savagely, if it got in the way or if the owner was way too friendly.

Setting the tray down on the counter, I sat down on a stool and looked at Derek. "Hello, how's my horse doing?"

They both looked at me. Derek answered, "He's fine, just gave him a big bundle of hay, but it looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks. " And Kay glances at the tray of food and then asks me, puzzled, "Aren't you supposed to be servin' that stuff?"

Obviously I couldn't say 'no' without sounding sassy so I just shrugged half-heartedly, saying "Yeah, but how do you expect me to serve this to a bunch of dogs who have more fun killing each other than eating good food like this?"

Kay watched me skeptically, like I was actually trying to get on his nerves and Derek nodded his head with understanding.

I held up one of the wooden cups, sniffed the contents, and asked them, curiously, "What is this stuff anyway? Smells kinda bitter."

I took a sip--hey, I was thirsty and too curious for my own good--of it, then, instantly tasting something pungant and acerbic, gagged. Derek immediately laughed, swapping cups with me, taking the cup of icky stuff to give me his water cup and he swallowed it in like two gulps.

Sick and wrong.

"Ugh, what is that? Ew. It's totally nasty." I told them, after guzzling down the water.

Kay didn't look amused. Derek informed me, however, that it was Kay's famous beer that he brews himself. "These cowboys love it, guess you should stick to the water or wine, though, Susannah."

Tastes more like pee then like any beer I've sampled. Which isn't much, so don't, you know, have a cow.

I ripped of a piece of the bread which was still warm and stuffed it in my mouth since Anet wasn't here to stop me this time. But someone else did, unintentionally, I'm sure. And no it wasn't Kay or Derek or even Jesse. It wasn't even Paul or Joan.

It was Diego. And Maria.

"Kay," a gruff Spanish accented voice said behind me loudly. "You have that information I asked for, _amigo_?"

And then I choked on a piece of bread for the second time today.

* * *

A/N: Well, wasn't that fun? I'm mega sorry and apologize in advance if I don't get the next chapter up soon. Which probably will happen since I can see through the fog and into the frizzy future. Wait...wait, that's just my hair. Heh, opps. 

Anyway, please review!

And while your waiting for me to update, or anyone else for that matter, why don't you snag a copy of _Teen Idol_? It's seriously a great book. I already finished it! Not as great as _The Mediator_ series, of course, but anything by Meg is amazingly good!


	6. Nice to Make Your Acquaintance

**Horror Vacui**

A/N: Uh...No comment. I'm a horrible person for making you all wait months for me to update. End of story.

My sincere apologies.

_**SORRY!**_

Um... Did I mention I was sorry?'Cause I am!

**Disclaimer:** Mediator books belong to Meg Cabot, fabulous creator of Twilight and all those other jazzy books. I only own half of the plot (since everyone seems to be doing the time travel thing, even Meg!) but I _do_ own Derek, Kay, Anet and the Salazars (not that they're important).

_Chapter 6: Nice to Make Your Acquaintance_

Damn it!

(A/N: Sorry, gals, you might have to re-read some of the last chapter to remember what's going on.)

What is it with this nineteenth century bread and me? Is it like programmed to activate my gag reflexes or something!

Because I swear that was what I did after hearing Diego's pretentious voice. Gag uncontrollably on the bread Anet made, that is.

They all stared at me as I attempted to swallow discreetly. Kay looked at me in mild dismay and Derek cast me a sympathetic glance, helpfully offering me a cup of water.

How did Diego and Maria react? Oh, they were very nice about it actually.

Diego granted me a sneer and a lovely look of disgust, which I saw quite clearly over the cup's rim. Maria (her arm strung around Diego's waist, carelessly—talk about disgusting) gazed at me with an identical look on her perfectly ugly Look-at-Me-I'm-Pretty! face and, leaning towards Diego, muttered in a stage whisper, "What a _buey mudo_."

(A/N: 'Dumb ox.' Ouch!)

Hey! I held up a hand, about to demand what the hell she had just called me, but Kay didn't let me.

"Er, actually, _Señor_ Diego, 'bout that inf—"

"Come," Diego interrupted, with a big cheesy smile plastered on his face, his pencil thin mustache twitching upward, "let us speak in the back, in privacy. _Sí_?" Kay glanced at his cousin who looked confused. Seems like Derek is just as baffled as I am. Why would Kay talk to Diego? Doesn't he know that Felix Diego is an evil slave owner who has no honor and would willingly kill an innocent attractive rancher in order to marry a conceited girl?

Apparently not, since Kay just went, "Uh, sure thing, then," and walked towards the kitchen with Diego moving to follow.

Before Diego left, he untangled Maria from him and purred, "Oh, yes, Maria, _mi flor_, wait here till I come back. If you don't wish to wait, I'll meet you at the Salazar's place. Perhaps you can find yourself anice_ vestido_, _si_? _Adiós_."

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I think people talk in different languages around me _just _because I'm not welcomed.

Maria looked somewhat forlorn at being abandoned in a tacky inn before Diego mentioned the Salazars, whoever they were. She had also ignored both Derek's presence and my own (unless you count the comment in Spanish that I assumed was pure evil) till this point in time. Suddenly perking up (and ignoring my warningglare that was aimed at her), she turned to me, eyes alight and teeth bared in what was supposed to be a kind smile. It looked painful.

"Hello, are you new in Carmel? I haven't seen you around here before. I think I would have remembered your...looks." Her voice was sickly sweet, syrupy, and had a Spanish accent, just how I remember it being when she had taunted me about Jesse being exorcised on the rooftop years in the future.

I could clearly tell that Maria was sizing up my 5'6" frame, from my feet, covered in a pair of old-fashioned shoes, borrowed from Anet, to my frizzy and untidy hair (erm, what can I say? One of my very few bad hair days! God, what did these people do without hair straighteners?) She made it no secret that what she saw amused her; a revolting sneer sprouted across her Spanish face.

Don't even go there, girlfriend. I can kick-box! Hi-yah!

Even if Maria gives the false appearance of kindness, some things never change.

Like her snobby attitude, for example.

I answered with a brief, "Yup. Just got here."

"And what is your name, miss?" She coaxed, speaking slowly as if I were retarded. She must've figured I surely was since I didn't jump at the chance to speak to her.

"It's Susannah." I said shortly.

To which she replied unexcitedly, "You just moved here? Oh, how…thrilling, Susannah. My name is Maria de Silva. My uncle and my father are both quite rich and we de Silva's are decedents from a royal Spanish bloodline."

Oh? No! Really?

I have a sincere feeling that she tries to throw that last sentence—the 'I'm Spanish royalty so kiss up to my magnificent wealth and beauty'—into each conversation she has with strangers. In a not very subtle way either.

Although the only thing I wanted to do was wipe that annoying smile off her face, flip my tangled hair (or the bird) at her and then strut away confidently, I didn't. Because that wouldn't be very tactful, now would it?

And what am I, if not tactful?

So, deciding to go along with her if not just for a moment, I raised then lowered my eyebrows in acknowledgement, muttered, "How…nice," mocking her sugary voice,and glowered at Derek who must be used to Maria's freakish arrogance since he was staring into the contents of his cup, absentmindedly. But even so I could see him trying not to smirk at my annoyance.

The git.

"Listen, Maria. I have to-"

_Go_, was what I was about to say, since she was bugging the brains out of me, but Maria's shoulders slumped unattractively, and she whined in this shrill and totally unpleasant voice that fully shredded my ear drums, "Oh, no, Susannah! Come and accompany me to the Salazar's home. They're this lovely Hispanic family and Mrs. Salazar does superb work with thread and needle." She took ahold of my wrist with her bony fingers and guided me towards the door. She reeked of orange blossoms. "You'd like her, I'm sure. She has six daughters. Or had, at least."

"Um, Maria?" My eyes began to moisten because of the pungent scent wafting off her dress and skin. What had the crazy girl done? Vigorously rubbed the orange blossom perfume into her hair and skin and then swallowed the rest of it?

"Yes, Susannah?"

"Could you, like, not touch me? You smell really…terrible." She let go of my wrist, immediately, her eyes narrowing in umbrage. Derek, who had tagged along after me like a lost puppy, snorted, but quickly turned it into a coughing fit upon seeing Maria's badgered look.

"It's orange blossoms." She said defensively, lifting her head up, haughtily. "I suppose it is a refined aroma."

I ignored what I assumed was a blow to my 'unrefined' character. But no way was I gonna let her get away easy on this. Because seriously. Every second that passed she began to smell more like ammonia than blossoms.

"Right, you just keep telling yourself that. So, what precisely do you mean by 'had' regarding that lady and where exactly are you trying to tow me?"

"Oh, well," Maria exited the inn and I trailed behind her feeling stupid for even being curious about the Salazar woman and even stupider for following a person who doubtlessly can't even find her way home at night. Andlet's see…and why else do I hate her? Oh yeah,she's gonna try to KILL MY BOYFRIEND.

"Poor Mrs. Salazar suffered tragically months ago. All of her daughters died, four from a nasty bout of flu and the other two were grief-stricken afterwards so they passed away too. Their ages ranged from 8 to 20. I'm going to visit Mrs. Salazar; she's selling all of her daughters clothing to pay for their funerals. You're welcome to join me."

Oooh, dead girls' clothes. Goodie.

I think I'm correct in assuming that Maria isn't very popular here in Carmel, seeing as I had just insulted her taste in perfume and in response she invited me to go shopping for dresses that itch and weigh more than Dopey. Oh yeah, and the dresses belonged to girls who had just died. Great way to find friends.How sad (not to mention sick) is that?

Or maybe it's a pity invite. You know, since I'm new and all. I'm probably the only girl in Carmel-by-the-Sea-1849 who hasn't learned how to eschew her yet.

Yeah, that's probably it.

I accepted her invite reluctantly, deciding it would be a good way to get reacquainted with Carmel (Derek came too, claiming that it was so he could point out important stuff to me, which he didn't even do). I was also hoping to learn more aboutMaria and Jesse's relationship and also her relationship with Diego, which seemed to be flourishing.

Which is something I found odd (and another reason why I resented Maria even more). That Felix and Maria were openly exhibiting PDA right in the inn Jesse was staying at. Call me crazy, but doesn't that seem a tad bit bold to you?

Or is it just me?

Five minutes into the walk guess who started talking about their bonnets? Let me give you a hint: it wasn't Derek.

Oh, boy.

* * *

Mrs. Salazar's house was _huge_. There were many beautiful glass windows and the whole house was made of dark sturdy wood, maybe mahogany. It was two stores tall and there was a balcony shaped like a horseshoe. The russet-colored house was set at the outskirts of Carmel, where viridian grassy plains dominated over dusty roads. A garden of various herbs and flowers were planted near the door, which had an intricate design carved into it. The house was absolutely gorgeous.

Maria smirked triumphantly, noticing my amazed gaze, which I quickly changed to one of polite interest. She ushered Derek and I inside, saying smugly, "It is a kingly house, isn't it? My father's house looks something like this, except it's bigger and we don't have a ridiculous garden."

Way to ruin a moment.

Inside the spectacular home was a pleasant old lady who greeted us (I assumed she was Mrs. Salazar, since despite her content smile, she was wearing a black dress and her eyes revealed her sadness and loss). Maria hugged Mrs. Salazar "comfortingly" and kissed her on the cheek while Derek kissed her glovedhand, complimented her on how well she and Mr. Salazar were coping and I simply gave her a smile. I guess I need to work on nineteenth century introductions.

Mrs. Salazar showed us to her oldest daughter's room, which was where she had placed all of her girls' clothes. The interior of the house was as nice as the exterior but I was a bit preoccupied, praying to God—who, as of late, seems to ignore my pleas—that I wouldn't come across one of the dead Salazar girls.

To my surprise and to Maria's as well, since she made a hissing noise between her teeth (was it a gasp? I really couldn't tell you), the room was full of girls, chattering and arguing. A large grandfather clock that told me it wasthree o'clock ticked away in a corner but could hardly be heard over the voices of girls. Dresses were strewn everywhere.

Can I just say that it was _almost_ as bad as Christmas clearance sales at the mall?

Almost.

Maria scowled childishly like the big baby she was, and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the girls, probably upset that she wouldn't be getting first picks anymore. Derek on the other hand grinned roguishly while gazing around the room, whistled once, and then called, "Alita, my dove! I though you'd be here. How are you?"

A girl who appeared my age carrying a few dresses in her arms spun around puzzled, trying tosingle out who had called her name. She had light brown wavy hair and eyes the color of dark chocolate. Just like Jesse.

Recognizing Derek, she let out a small shout and ran towards him. Well, ran over to him as fast as her light greenlayered dress allowed her to. Which wasn't very fast. She looked like she was power walking actually. And not even that fast. But whatever.

So, this is the legendary Alita, then. Huh. Jesse's hotter.

(A/N: That probably sounds wrong, but it's the truth! I can't tell a lie!)

Maria shuffled farther away from the happy pair who was currently hugging; Alita's handful of dresses caught between their bodies. Maria grumbled something about idiotic cousins as she investigated the many other dresses with other girls, some as young as Jack, some older than me. Two girls emerged from out of the fray looking at Maria and then at Anita and Derek, mildly creeped out.

The two Hispanic girls exchanged significant glances, eyebrows rose slightly in an amused gesture that I immediately recognized as one of Jesse's trademark looks.

The older of the two girls whose hair was hidden behind a baby blue bonnet that matched her dress shook her bonnet-donned head in Alita's direction and announced, "Mother would not be pleased to hear about this," to her younger sis.

The younger one, carrying dresses that were probably her sibling's choices, wrinkled her nose sadly. "No, and neither would Jesse be very happy. But that's why we won't be telling them." Seeing her sister's doubtful look she added, "Right, Isabel?"

Isabel shot her sister a look that I read as '_As if_,' in 21st century lingo but in 19th century talk may be labeled as ' _Ah, how mistaken you are, my dear fool._' But before she could respond verbally, her little sister questioned, "Who are you, miss?"

Since I was eavesdropping on their conversation (pretending to examine various items of clothing, that must be considered the height of fashion in the late 1840s), I couldn't tell whom they were talking to. That is until a little hand patted my arm softly and an equally soft voice said curiously, "Hello, miss. Have you recently moved here? I haven't seen you before." Then I realized that the "miss" was me.

"Uhh…" I fumbled awkwardly, gripping an ugly vomit green lace garment in my hands.

I had a feeling that eavesdropping has always been a vice, even in the eighteen hundreds. And I didn't want to make, you know, a bad first impression on two of Jesse's sisters. Three, counting Alita, but she seemed too preoccupied with Derek to notice that her kid sisters were talking to a freak garbed in pink. Aka me.

So I was at a loss for words. Obviously.

If this had been the era of Progress and Technology instead of the era of Eureka-I-found-gold! and someone had suddenly strolled up to me asking who I was and where I came from, I would totally have gotten all hostile, like Demi totally would if someone told her she could do better than Ashton and woulda said, "Excuse me, _that_ is none of your business," and walk away huffily.

But seeing as I'm not Demi and this isn't the 21st century all I did was say meekly, "Um, yes, as a matter of fact I am. I'm Susannah. How'd you know anyway?" I asked the younger girl.

The thirteen year old looked proud. "Oh, I could just tell. For one thing you look unfamiliar and you seem to be alone. And judging by your response, I'd say you have a different accent than those who live here. You don't speak Spanish, do you?"

I shook my head.

"I thought so."

Isabel rolled her eyes (something I thought that these nineteenth century folk weren't even _allowed_ to do) at her sister and said not without some exasperation, "Oh, you can just ignore Neva, Susannah. She gets quite annoying and bothersome when she's inwhat I callher 'intellectual mode'."

I snorted at Isabel's comment, about to explainthat I know what she meant since I also have a geeky smarty-pants little sibling who'll try to clone guppies in the bathtub if we let him. But then I realized something. An odd something it was to, let me tell ya. I don't know why I didn't figure it out sooner. I must've been too overwhelmed and exhausted from time travel (is there such a thing as back-in-time jetlag?) to notice.

Whatever it was, what I finally realized was that "annoying and bothersome" Paul had the ability to change the past and could make it so Jesse hadn't died, meaning that I would never meet him at all.

You are probably rolling your eyes just like Isabel, going slowly, "No duh, Suze. You can do that, too," and I totally know that. I do. But knowing Paul, he will draw it out. All the taunting me and stuff.

He's already started, as you well know. 'Member that little threatening talk he had with Jesse at the inn? That 'I'm an atheist, sir' mumbo jumbo. What the hell was that about?

I wouldn't put it past him to do it again, either. Paul with his teasing. He can't help it. It's a habit of his already. Tormenting Jesse and me, I mean. He's perfected that skill countless times before. What with exorcising Jesse and that bouquet of roses signed, "love" and that oh-I-could've-sworn-you-left-it-on-my-bed**-**_the-other-day_ act.

Paul could seriously teach a course on crushing people's hopes and dreams. He could call it 'Ruining Lives (Particularly the Lives of Ghosts and Fellow Mediators or as I Like to Say, "Shifters") 101.'

Except you can't actually fit that on a plaque, can you? You could use that really tiny size 10font but still.

Never mind.

Shaking me out of these distressing and wacky thoughts, Doc's twin, I mean, Neva, went, "Have you met our other sister? Here, I'll introduce you," and dragged me over to Alita and Derek who had just finished swapping spit.

Honestly, I thought girls were considered easy and skanky if they went around kissing boys in public.

Maybe that's why Jesse wouldn't approve of Alita and Derek, like Neva had stated earlier.

Also a good reason why we've never made it past 2nd base.

After making acquaintances with 3/5s of Jesse's sisters I told them that Derek and Maria were showing me around, curious of how they'd respond to the Maria thing.

They didn't disappoint.

"Maria _de Silva_, you mean?"I nodded, innocently at this question.

"You don't like her, do you?" Neva asked immediately, her geekiness vanishing.

Alita elbowed her and hissed something at her in Spanish. Most likely a scolding. I know one when I hear it, even in another language. Though Sleepy, my oldest stepbrother sleeps 24/7 he can scold people (namely me) like there's no tomorrow, 'specially when you borrow a certain person's car and forget to fill it with gas or put the keys back in their rightful place. Not that I've ever done that.

"Not really, she seems a bit pompous," I answered mildly. Mild because Maria was really just a skanky, prissy, bitchy, ferret-faced, _pompous_ murderer.

In my opinion at least.

My feelings toward Maria must be unanimous since the three girls gave me warm smiles. Derek looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Well, it's not really gentlemanly of me to say anything slanderous of a lady," Derek began. "But—"

"Maria's a fool," Isabel informed me, hotly. Looking around the room to make sure that Maria wasn't within hearing distance (she wasn't- Maria, it seemed, had disappeared), she added, "Sadly, she's our cousin and soon she'll be our sister-in-law. We didn't know much about her until a few months ago when her father and ours arranged for Maria to marry our brother, Hector. And Maria's father owns a good portion of Salinas and our father really approved the marriage so of course our brother couldn't refuse. The arrangements have been made for January 8th."

Acting like all of this was new information to me (I had only not known about that marriage date- Jan 8th? So soon!), I feigned a look of shock and disgust—it _was_ pretty disgusting, once you think about it, though. Marrying your own cousin. Especially if it's Maria. Ahh! I'm in hell! —and said, "Oh, wow. Derek hadn't told me that."

Derek looked at me, the first time in twenty minutes he had looked at anybody but Alita, and grinned. "Oh, I hadn't? I just didn't feel like ruining your hopeful dreams about Hector, that's all."

Lucky for me Alita had begun to speak right after Derek so nobody had a chance to ask me what he had meant by that last part. I had an idea that Isabel was particularly protective of her big bro and wouldn't appreciate any of my romantic feelings towards Jesse.

"Yes," Alita said, "Good have mercy for Jesse, our poor brother. Maria should simply stay with that filthy slave runner of hers, if the rumors are true. They deserve each other. She'll only disgrace Jesse if she marries him. Maria is hardly good enough to be apart of Jesse's future."

Isabel muttered, "_Nobody's_ good enough for our Jesse," confirming my suspicion.

Then, Neva, who had seen the grandfather clock I had noticed earlier, told us all that it was almost five o'clock and if they were late for supper again Father would give each of them two lashings with his belt. "Yes, even you, Alita," she added when Alita wrinkled her nose.

Whoa. Maybe if Mr. And Mrs. Slater had disciplined Paul better when he was a child (given _him_ a few lashings) he wouldn't be running around now threatening hot girls to spend time with him or else he'd off their hot ghostly boyfriends.

Just maybe.

So I made my farewells with the three ladies who went to go pay for their clothes and offer their condolences to Mrs. Salazar. Before he left, Derek realized that Maria was gone.

"You won't have trouble getting back to the inn, will you? Alita asked me to escort her and her sisters back to the ranch. You know how to get back, right?"

No, not really. But no way would I admit that, even to Derek, who I consider my friend. "Uh, sure, I don't need a chaperone." Coughing meaningfully I added, "Unlike you."

He grinned cheerfully. "I'll take that as a compliment, thanks. See you back at the inn then, Susannah. Tell Kay I'll be back soon. A_diós_." And then he and the de Silva sisters were gone.

The people who had been here earlier had gradually departed and only a few gowns and a middle aged woman with a whining child remained. Okay then. Time for me to hit the road.

Figuratively speaking of course.

* * *

Outside it was cold and dark. Past dusk. The sky had already shifted from blue to that rainbow stage of pink, orange, red and lavender all mixed together. As I walked away from the fancy house the sky was darkening bit by bit to gray and within half an hour it would be pitch black.

Seeing as it's winter and there are no streetlights on or even invented here I thought it would be a very good idea to hurry down the dirt road that I assumed lead to the Farr From Home Inn. You never know what's lurking in the darkness, after all. Especially if there's no streetlights or electricity to help you know.

And there might like be a street curfew or something. I could get shot for breaking the light's out after dark law. That wouldn't be very fun.

After you get used to it though, the no lights on at night, only having the stars to light the way, and none of the traffic noises disturbing the chirping of crickets or hooting of owls, it's actually very peaceful and nice. The night, I mean.

At least until you hear a quick scuffling noise and something huge crashes right on top of you, hurling you to the ground.

Then it's not so nice.

* * *

A/N: Well, what do you think? Sorry it took me ages! But I've finished rereading Twilight and it has inspired me to finish up this chapter, which has been lying half done in my computers files. Also my computer has only recently permitted me to access the Internet. Whatever, Dell Computer. Anymore of this funny stuff and I swear I'm switching to Macintosh Apples. I swear.

Review?


	7. Mentoring the Mediator

**Horror Vacui**

A/N: Hey, here's the seventh installment of Horror Vacui ('fear of the void', in Latin). A gazillion thanks to all who reviewed and urged me to update soon! In this chapter I hope to explain what exactly the title means related to the story and time travel. Well, sorta. I kinda just chose the title because Latin's a fun language. And I wasn't sure what was up with my story yet.

But, rejoice! I do now. I think.

Hope you didn't have to wait too long. I honestly got this one started minutes after the last one. Honest. Next update probably won't be as fast. So savor this moment. :)

Hope this chapter knocks your socks off!

Oh, yeah and some of you clever sleuths may have noticed that my story appeared earlier today, even though chapter seven wasn't up yet. Well, that's my fault, I'll admit. I'd added Chapter 7, but then as I was looking over it, I noticed a bunch of mistakes…so yeah. Sorry, for confusing you all!

Enjoy!

_Chapter 7: Mentoring the Mediator

* * *

_

"What the hell?" I yelled at the thing that had crashed right onto me, as it proceeded to cover my mouth with its hand.

"Why, Suze," a voice I instantly identified, whispered merrily into my ear. "I thought it was you. Even in a hoop skirt I'd still recognize your lovely outline."

"You're just lucky I'm wearing a hoop skirt, _Paul_," I hissed in muffled reply, since his hand was still over my mouth.

I tried to shove him off me. Um, hello? This is Anet's dress. What kind of friend would I be to return it to her covered in dirt? Or return it with a caved in hoop skirt? Because seriously. Paul is _heavy_. Not to mention the fact that him being on top of me makes my heart pound rather unpleasantly in my chest. "Otherwise I'd have an even bigger bruise on my butt and you'd be in even deeper horse poop. Now get off me before I scream, wake up everybody within a three mile radius and convince them that you're raping me and have you burned at the stake!"

I would totally do it. I, as an 1849 damsel, have the power.

Paul chuckled softly at my threat, which by the way, I had _meant_, but got off me nevertheless.

Good!

Because if I had found out that he had flew me into a pile of horse manure or a bough of poison ivy I so woulda pulled a Kate from _Lost_ and head-butted him silly, just like she did to that Sawyer guy.

(A/N: It was in an old episode but I just loved it! Sawyer squealed like a piglet! And what was up with that fat guy aka Hurley, the other day? DUDE, you don't yell at the Hobbit. It's like…forbidden.)

Not noticing my punk attitude Paul went, "The Salem Witch Trials happened about a century and a half ago, Suze. They don't burn people at the stake anymore."

"Whatever," I grunted quietly, since I really didn't want to wake up everybody within a three-mile radius. I stood up and examined my hoop skirt.

Not caved in. Well. Lucky for him.

'Cause Paul would've gotten my laundry bill. And I imagine whalebones whittled into skirts are _very_ expensive.

"It doesn't mean that they won't make an _exception_." I glared at him and after a few seconds of nonstop glaring, said conversationally, "So. Paul. Why'd you tackle me? Training to be a quarterback now, are we?"

"Don't you mean linebacker?" I could hear him grin. Really. He makes a short, wet, saliva-y smacking sound when he smiles big. It's seriously alarming. Dopey does it, too. Which just makes it even grosser.

Anyway.

I blinked. "Do you _mean_ to say anything of importance to me while I'm still here?"

I began to walk up the hill to the inn, or as I like to think of it now, my home. Where Paul definitely doesn't belong.

But he caught up. Doesn't he always?

"Wait, hey! Whoa, calm down, Suze." Paul said finally getting serious. Or so I thought. "God, I just thought that you might want to talk to me, ask me a few questions before running back to that inn to go suck faces with Cowboy Jesse."

I threw him a loathsome look, which I know he missed in the abyss of darkness around us.

"You," I stated matter of factly, prodding him in the chest to get my point across, "are a very rude person. Very rude. And for your information Jesse and I don't 'suck faces' as you so eloquently put it. And he's a rancher. Not a cowboy." He'd kill Paul for saying any of that stuff. Heck, he'd kill Paul for even talking to me if I let him.

Kill.

Him.

At least, the Jesse I know would.

"Furthermore, why would I wanna talk to you right now, at night, in the nineteenth century, trudging up a hill, alone?"

It came as a big surprise to me to find that we were walking side by side and for once I wasn't striding away huffily telling him to never speak to me again. I admit that I was anxious as to what he'd say, hoping it was something along the lines of, 'Okay, you win, Suze. I won't hurt you or Jesse ever again and I'll just go into a corner and die now, m'kay? Happy?'

What? A girl can dream, can't she?

However rather than answer me, Paul stopped walking and took a hold of my left hand, pulling me towards him. Before I could so much as display my distain at his touch verbally, he commented shadowy, his face inches from mine, "Nice ring, Suze."

"Thanks," I answered automatically, pulling away before he came up with any ideas.

Well, it _was_ a good find, the ring I had found, and even though I'm more of an earring and bracelet type of girl and not all that into rings, this one's colorings—wait…

"Why?" I asked charily. I was perfectly aware that when I had put on my "nice ring" this afternoon it had sucked me into the nineteenth century. But did Paul know that?

Playing dumb, he said, "Why what? Why is it a nice ring? Well, jeez, it's on your lovely slender finger for one thing. And don't you just admire the color of—"

"Oh, shut up, already!" I barked crossly, resuming my march toward my house. Self-consciously, I fiddled with the said ring, remembering the unpleasant lurch and sudden halt that had brought me here. Can't he for once be straightforward? Get rid of all the cryptic hints and threats?

Honestly, it must take a lot of effort to be so annoying.

I added with certainty, stating over my shoulder, "I don't care about whatever it is you have to say to me." I noticed the ground rise steeper still, meaning that we were half way up the hill. Thank God for that. I've had just about enough of Paul today.

Sadly, Paul caught up to me in just a few long strides. Whatever, Mr. Long Shanks.

Sounding devious, he questioned, "Would you begin to care if I told you that I had a ring exactly identical to yours?"

Opening my mouth to reply with a cheeky "No," (besides what are the odds of two time travel rings?) Paul waved his hand in front of my face. I know because, even though I couldn't see it I felt air hit my face as he brandished his hand back and forth.

"What? Is that supposed to mean something to me? If you haven't realized yet, Paul, it's nighttime. And generally when the sun sets it becomes dark outside. I couldn't even see my own hand if I flapped it in front of my face, let alone yours."

As I demonstrated this, Paul sighed dramatically and withdrew his own hand. Seconds later he pressed a small object into my open palm, the one I wasn't waving. I don't even know how he found my hand.

Guess he doesn't have a problem seeing in the dark. That's because he's a stinking rat!

With night vision!

Ha ha ha.

"What's this?" I inquired intelligently, touching the circular item. "One of those lame promise rings or something? It certainly feels cheap. Totally not Zales or Tiffany jewelry quality. I hope you know I won't accept it."

"It's _my_ ring," he replied, ignoring my latest remarks. "It used to be hidden at the bottom of my shifter box, like the one on your finger, until I figured out their uses."

"And how exactly do you use them?" I asked simply to be impudent. And why not? He wasn't being very civil either, acting all omniscient and holy.

Idiot.

'Oooh, look at me! I can take _off_ my ring and— '

"Hey! How come you can take off your ring without being yanked into another dimension while I can't?" Talk about unfair. And bizarre. Defying logic, even.

Judging by the smug tone of his voice I had asked the exact question he most wanted me to ask. Which could only mean one thing, judging from past experiences: trouble.

"Oh, would you look at that," he said amused. "You noticed too, huh?"

Quite fed up by now by his horrible attitude, I chucked the ring back at him—assured that he wasn't fibbing because during his chattering I had felt similar symbols on his ring that were on my own—and stalked away, feeling utterly satisfied when I heard it make a thunking noise as it hit his cheek.

The one on his face, obviously. Ew.

"Ow! Jeez, you don't have to go all Titanic on me. Hold up, Suze!" I could hear him scrambling around in the darkness searching in the dust for his precious ring.

Nuh. Where'd your night vision go, now, huh, Paulie? Well, you can just die without your ring, like Gollum for all I care. How you like them apples, you jerk?

Giving up on the search—or maybe finding his ring—he jogged up to me as I reached the hazy, barely visible outline of the wooden Farr From Home Inn sign. He grabbed my arm. Again.

That arm-grabbing Nazi. Why, I otta...

"And what about your shifter lessons?" Paul inquired, panting slightly.

I stopped, my padded shoes stirring up small waves of dust. Well, I had to stop anyway. Seeing as he was holding my arm. Painfully so. "What _about_ them?"

"Tomorrow's Wednesday if you haven't noticed yet,"—I hadn't—"meaning another lesson for lucky you."

"Oh, come on, Paul!" I jerked out of his grip. "How can you be so heartless? Doesn't this count as a lesson enough?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It isn't."

"How come?"

"It just isn't, Suze."

"Again, why?"

"Because."

"Becau—?"

"Suze," Paul said, beginning to lose his patience. Probably because I wouldn't let him hold my hand. What a baby. "If there were any point in time that I would be able to fulfill my threat, this is it. Don't tempt me."

Argh. Hiss. Growl.

I crossed my arms over my chest, distantly hearing the snorting of the horses tied up to a post nearby. "Fine. Be that way. Act like the antagonistic pig you are. I'll see you in—"

"Susannah?"

I froze. Oh my God!

Had we been arguing _that_ loudly?

I heard Paul groan as he recognized the voice, just like me. Except, in my case, my heart flipped over in my chest when I heard this person's voice.

Apparently, the same can't be said for ickle Paulie. "God. Can't I talk to you for five _freakin'_ minutes, without Romeo barging in?" Paul muttered, irritably. I elbowed him to shut his mouth, as I looked in Jesse's direction, totally flattered that Jesse and I seemed to share that same connection as we do in the future. You know, the one where he comes to my rescue, when I don't even call.

"Jesse?" I squeaked, I mean, said. "Um…hi." Though it's very exciting when Jesse gets all heroic, I can't help but feel embarrassed when he goes all heroic _save-the-damsel-in-distress!_ thing when I'm trying to mediate. Okay, that thing with Tad wasn't exactly mediating, per se, and neither is this, but still. It's totally awkward.

I hope he couldn't see me blushing furiously. After all Paul had said something along the lines of swearing, which is a big no-no in Jesse's book. Especially in front of ladies like _moi_.

I heard the rustle of Jesse's clothes and his soft footsteps on the dirt road as he moved closer to identify Paul.

"What are you doing out here when it's so dark, _Senorita_? The moon is not even visible tonight." Sounding concerned, he added, "Are you alright, Susannah? I heard raised voices and came to investigate." Even though I couldn't see anything but their silhouettes, I swear Jesse shot a livid glare in Paul's direction. "Who is this?"

Uh oh.

Perfect situation you've got yourself into now, Simon. How the hell am I gonna explain Paul? _Oh, him? He's nobody, actually. Just some guy who'll do everything within his power to make sure that we will never be together. Talk about your selfish psychopaths. Just ignore him._ Great. I never should've talked to, walked with, or ever _acknowledged_ Paul in the first place. I am so stupid. Just a stupid, stupid girl. Who has been known to punch people occasionally, when the mood strikes her.

If I were alone I would have done a funky little jerking dance and swore loudly, but, well, I wasn't alone. So that would have freaked out both guys.

So, clearing my throat, and shooting a reproachful scowl at Paul who had decided to leave me to answer Jesse's inquiries, I opened my mouth to answer with a complete lie.

"Uhh…."

Okay, not working. Try again, Suze.

Just open your mouth and say something. "…Um…"

Ah, forget it. Jesse always can tell when I'm lying, anyway. Might as well tell him the truth. Or at least a variation of it.

"You remember Paul, right, Jesse? I think you two met earlier, near my—I mean, your room. Well, yeah. He's new here, too. And we were just admiring the stars, because, um, they look different in California than they do in New York. Something about the geography or...um, something. I dunno."

Oooh, good job, Suze. On a perfectly unstarry night we were looking at the stars. Yeah, I am so sure he fell for _that_.

For reasons not privy to me, Paul didn't deny my excuse. Didn't jump up and say, "That's a lie, Your Honor!" Nor did he put up a fight, as his earlier vehement words had suggested. Maybe it was because he remembered how hard the Jesse we knew could punch a guy in the nose if he didn't like what he said. But Paul did go, in an irritated voice, "Sure, Suze. I'll see you tomorrow, though. Right?" He meant for a shifter lesson.

"Um," I said uncomfortably, about to say anything to make him leave, "Right."

Then, I'm not kidding you, he turned and, melting into the darkness, disappeared without another word. Oh, except for a, "Nice pants, de Silva," aimed at Jesse. Which so wasn't nice, seeing as it really confused Jesse and in the nineteenth century a guy who wears tight pants isn't necessarily gay, which Paul was totally implying.

Whatever. At least he had finally left. I was completely alone. Oh, except for Jesse. Yeah, he was still here, even though Paul had left his turf. I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.

Confused, Jesse turned his face towards me, tilted to the side ever so slightly, like a little lost puppy. Sounding mildly puzzled, he said, "What was it that man called you, Susannah? 'Suze,' was it? Is it an affectionate name of some sort?"

I snorted. Practically everyone calls me Suze. Well, except for him and Father D. Oh, and my mom. Suzie. _Ick._ "Hardly affectionate."

His voice changed from perplexed to offended on my behalf. "Do you mean it was an insult?" he asked, sounding like he had half a mind to go after Paul and start punching the evilness out of him.

Which didn't sound all that bad, actually.

Good thing Jesse hadn't understood the pants remark, though. Fur would fly.

"Um," I said quickly, "No, not an insult. Don't worry."

Though I couldn't see the distinct features of his face—his mysterious eyebrow scar or his beautiful mahogany eyes, to name a few—I could see that Jesse was staring into the darkness after Paul. My voice, however, seemed to snap him out of whatever he'd been thinking of or staring at and his penetrating gaze settled on me. I couldn't see it very well, but I could totally feel the weight of it and even picture the furrowing of his brows and the narrowing of his eyes, the softening in his features as he looked at me.

And NO, I am NOT a victim of wishful thinking. Nuh.

"You said the pair of you are from New York?"

Suddenly, I wasn't so tired or wishful anymore. More like cautious.

I nodded, uncertainly. Figuring that he may have a problem seeing this, said somewhat hesitantly, "Yes." His voice had been deep and confident whereas mine was unsure and was sort of leaning on the high-pitched side.

"Tell me then, _Senorita_ Susannah," he said calmly, somehow finding my arm in the darkness and being the gentleman he is, took a hold of it and began to guide me slowly in the general direction of the Inn, so I wouldn't, I dunno, trip over a stray rock or something. Paul had done the same thing except his grip on my arm had been possessive and dominating. Jesse's was much lighter and softer, not annoying or hidden agenda-y.

And even though I am a feminist and take deep offense at anyone who hints at women being weaker than men, I practically swooned at physical contact with Jesse.

Jesse's hold on my arm was more like a caress than a grip, though. "How are things up North?" he asked.

I'll be truthful here. Jesse's touch—the real, alive, flesh and blood Jesse—was quite distracting. It was the first time I had ever felt blood coursing through his veins, a heartbeat in his fingertips and heat radiating off him on a cool foggy night. I was semi-stunned but even through my amazement I realized that if I couldn't answer that question, like Lucy, I'd have some 'splaining to do.

I was grasping for an answer—_What happened in the late 1840s? The Gold Rush, yeah, but that was mainly here, in the west. What about the light bulb? When was that darn thing invented, again? What about the safety pin? That's a pretty old piece of junk._

"Um…the safety pin was invented?" I ventured hopefully. Mercifully, remembering a speech Doc had made days ago about women's rights, I added hastily, "Oh, and reformers in the east, like in Boston, are demanding rights for women. A lady named Sojourner Truth is a big influence, so I've heard. Era of Reform, right?"

Thank you, Doc! I could kiss your little red head!

Throughout my mini-babbling session Jesse's grip on my arm had remained gentle. In a half-amused, half-cynical voice he then said, "I take it that you're not really from the North, then."

It was a teasing statement not a question, yet I felt compelled to answer. "Not really."

See? I _told_ you he could tell when I'm lying! Too bad though. _I _though I was pretty convincing.

Sounding like he was totally use to girls lying to his face everyday he said, "Then what is your story, Susannah, if you don't mind me asking?"

Hmm. Don't think I can tell him _my_ story. It's a sci-fi horror kind of novel. He wouldn't be interested, I'm pretty sure. Nothing like _Critical Theory Since Plato_.

I guess an uneasy silence followed, where I wasn't meeting his eyes and fidgeting a bit, since he waved his other hand calmly. "Never mind. I see you are not comfortable with this subject."

We walked in more silence for a few seconds before he added, as an afterthought. "But…where ever it is that you are from, you should know that here, in the West, most people tend to frown upon ladies who lie."

He threw me an inquisitive glance, which, as we neared the Inn the lanterns inside lit up his face, I actually saw. "What?" I demanded, defensively, finally speaking up. "I'm not a lady or something? Or is it a crime to stretch the truth nowadays, hmm? I have a right to protect myself, you know. Against bandits and cowboys and…" Lustful curly-haired shifters? "Well, that sort." I shrugged.

Much to my immense disappointment, Jesse released my arm and raised an eyebrow. You know, the one with the scar slashed through it.

Oh, shivers down my spine.

"Does your list include ranchers, by any chance?"

I gapped at him. Did he—? Was he—? Jesse? _Flirting?_

Nah. Jesse de Silva doesn't flirt.

Or does he?

Before I could form a coherent sentence, Jesse flashed me an incredible grin. "Good night, _querida_. And remember what I said," and strode into the Inn's parlor.

Oooh. He's different. Coquettish and more confident. It's weird but…

…I like it.

* * *

"I hate you," I commented dryly, pouring a mixture of sand and dust from one hand into the other. "I mean it, Paul. I don't know how you can live with yourself." The whistling wind tugged at my hair, whipping it across my face and sticking to my lips as I spoke. "You're just so…heartless."

He, in his 1850s attire, merely shrugged modestly, as if to say, _Heartless? Me? Aw, shucks._ I rolled my eyes.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Son of Satan.

Seriously. Guess what he told me during the first hour of my shifter lesson that he blackmailed me to go to? Go on, guess.

That's right, nothing. Zilch. Or as Jesse would say, _nada_.

Well, that is until I kicked his shins a couple times and demanded an answer to why I'm sitting on a dirty rock instead of the swively computer chair that I usually sat on during our shifting lessons. A feat not easily accomplished in a layered nineteenth-century skirt and corset-like top, might I add. Boo-yah, take that Buffy!

But, that's what you get, tough guy, for draggin' a girl out into the heat of the afternoon to the well near Farr From Home Inn, away from her day dreams of Jesse, the swoon-worthy rancher, occupying a room only meters away from hers.

Anyway, after Paul gave in, with two very bruised shins and some creative cussing aimed at me, he gave me the 411.

Basically he said that he had found the twin rings hidden in Grandma Slater's (aka Dr. Salski's) room and in the depths of his shifter articles found out how to time travel using incantations on the ring. "Ancient Egyptians created them," he had said, getting over the fact that I had given him a momentary limp. "They were pretty in tune with supernatural stuff like this."

"What's the incantation?" I had asked him, innocently, giving him my best 'I'm-Not-Going-To-Run-Away-Back-Into-The-Future' smile.

He scoffed. "Like I'm gonna tell you. Nice try, Suze. I'm not stupid, though."

Well, ya coulda fooled me.

Besides. A non-stupid person would have told me what I wanted to know before I kicked them in the shins repeatedly.

He had went on to tell me that there were two basic ways to time travel, and enter through the void of one dimension to the next. From 3-D to 4-D, he had elaborated. One was through ring travel, what I had done, and the other was by doing a huge complex ritual with white candles, Latin incantations and an object unique to the year you wanted to travel to. Paul did the second one with an 1849 horseshoe he robbed from the Carmel Historical Museum.

"What? So you wore that ring just to confuse me?" I had glared at him. It was so like Paul to go the extra mile to bug me. It takes dedication, man. He hadn't even needed the ring if he hadn't used it to get here.

Unlike me.

Which was why I couldn't take it off.

Because it brought me here.

So he said, at least.

Not that I believed him. Much.

"If you take that ring off you won't go back to 2005. Nope, doesn't work that way. Your body might, but your soul will stay here because that ring only has a spell on it to travel _back_ in time not _forward_ in time once you go back. You can only go back to the future once the corresponding incantation is spoken. And since you don't know it, well," Paul ended with a smug smile, "looks like I'm pretty much in control of your fate."

Which was why I announced to him that I hated his guts and after his shrug of modesty kicked him once more, only this time higher up, if you know what I mean.

And who's to say he didn't have it coming? I mean, Paul was being a total butt about this whole situation and it was about time I return the favor.

"Shit, Suze! That _hurt_." He groaned, lying on the ground. "What'd you have to do that for?" I detected a hint of hurt in his voice.

"It's called karma, dude. You should know by now that I don't respond well to threats."

I took a step towards the Inn, about to leave him pouting on the ground, but Paul grabbed my ankle, tugging me to a halt. Through a mouthful of good ol' nineteenth century dirt, he grunted, "You'll regret that, Suze."

Um, hello? What had I just said about threats?

"No, I will not," I announced confidently, kicking him off. Remembering my hand full of sand and dust I decided to put it to good use. "And you know why? Because I've got Jesse."

And I leaned down and blew the dust cloud into his face.

You know, blew like in a _poof. _Like magical fairy dust. Magic!

Only later did I realize how much of a mistake that was. Taunting him, I mean. And by then it was far too late.

* * *

A/N: Tada! A lovely Paul and Jesse combo chapter. I'd like to give a special thanks to those classy reviewers who loyally tell me what's hot (Jesse!) and what's not (my update phobia) with my story, like Arda Silverlace (thanks for editing me, A.S.) and Lollilicious.

You guys are _all _the cat's pajamas!

Alda

P.S. Okay, so you might've realized that Jesse is currently engaged to Maria an' all that bad stuff, so why would he be flirting with Suze? Since, it totally goes against his moral standards. Well, don't forget that Jesse came to this boarding house/into break off their engagement, so he can flirt with anyone he bloody wants to. Pretty soon he'll be unattached, yo. If all goes well, I mean.

P.P.S. Wow. That PS was pretty long, huh?


	8. Accusations and an Invitation

**Horror Vacui**

A/N: Howdy, y'all! Sniff. Spring Break is over. Back to stinkin' school. Life is so unfair. I was almost too sad to write this. Almost too depressed to update.

Almost.

Onto the story!

_Chapter 8: Accusations & An Invitation

* * *

_

After my little lesson with Paul, I went back to the Inn, ready to pay off my room that I shared with Anet, through, (what else?) more errands.

"Okay, Nettie. What am I doing now?" I joined her in the back of the kitchen, my hair pulled back unattractively with a lace ribbon. Ugly, yes, but Anet told me last night that guys wouldn't bug me as much if my hair was up, instead of down. Something about 'up' meaning taken, 'down' meaning slutty.

I can't really remember.

Because I had a difficult enough time trying to go to sleep last night, while trying not to roll onto the side of the sad mistake of a bed where I had felt something nip at me. I hoped to God it wasn't a snake.

Though what a snake would be doing in my (Anet's, actually) bed I cannot tell you.

But I digress.

Anet (whom I've been calling Nettie since this morning when I discovered that she knits, knit, Anet…yeah, I have to learn how to stay on topic) gave me an irritated look as I rapped my fingers boredly on the counter.

Whoa, PMS much?

"Whadido?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I mean, I've been on my best behavior. Nobody punched out yet ('cept for Paul, but he totally had it coming), no extensive swearing, no rude hand gestures, hell, somebody fetch me one of those annoying _100 Angel _stickers. I was behaving like a perfect little angel.

So what was up?

She wiped her hands on her apron. "You," she began, pointing a flour-coated finger at me, despite apron-wipping,"should know better! Comin' from New York, and that like. Why, wasn't it your folk who're allegedly the most old fangled about intimacies?"

I blinked. My witty rejoinder was "Huh?"

She narrowed her eyes, looking sorta Asian.

Och. Scary. I had a Japanese teacher in kindergarten back in New York. She made me cry when I hadasked herfor a fortune cookie.

Ah. Home sweet home.

So I elaborated. "What are you talking about, Anet? What 'intimacies'?"

"Oh, don't give me that hooey, Susannah! You've been actin' like a lewd ol' streetwalker. I swear upon the Lord God himself if you in fact _are_ what you've been acting' like then, well, I'll have no choice but ta ask you to leave the Inn." She crossed her arms, getting flour all over her front, but still managing to look daunting all the same.

I looked at her, shocked. Me? I'm being accused of being a hooker? _Again_?

Hmph. Condemning, much?

I don't know how much more of this nineteenth century hostility I can take.

"Anet, I'm not a hooker. Seriously."

She gave me a doubtful Prove-It look.

Fine. I will, Miss Cynical. God.

And I thought Missouri was the Show-Me state.

I cleared my throat and crossed my arms. "If I were a hooker would I have brushed off Derek like I did yesterday? Wouldn't I be um, uglier and always disheveled looking? Would I have kicked those perverted cowboys' feet in the parlor yesterday if I were a hooker? And wouldn't I have been roaming around in the middle of the night last night instead of snoring conked out on your bed?" Which a snake is currently inhabiting, by the way.

Silence.

I'm so not repeating that.

If she couldn't understand me, well too flippin' bad. Someone should listen faster.

And not question me anymore, gosh darn it.

I'VE HAD A TRYING DAY.

"Why do I get the feeling you still don't believe me?" I asked after a moment of stillness, trying to be the least bit polite. Unlike some people I could mention.

"Because I don't Susannah. I don't believe you!"

Nice.

She continued. "First you arrive here, alone, wearin' that tattered dress and then I see you with Mr. Slater in what looked like a _very_ private conversation—"

"Uh, nothing happened," I blurted out, quickly.

I swear. This girl just wasn't happy unless she had something to complain about.

"—And then I see you lurkin' around Hector's room, lookin' up to no good." She glared at me.

Whoa. With no T.V. or Vogue to occupy them, girls must have had loads of time on their hands to practice the evil eye.And snoop a lot.

"Listen, about that—"

"I was willing to let it go, though." Anet was unrelenting. I was totally tempted to stuff my fingers in my ears and start singing 'Rich Girl,' to tune out her complete ridiculousness.

"I almost convinced myself that you were simply in need of someone who knew Carmel and could direct you places but then--"

I don't think I wanna here anymore of this.

"--last evenin' I hear you conversin' with Mr. Slater yet again, and I realized that he's not a native Californian. He couldn't possible help you. Not in that way, at least."

Ouch. Yup, tuning out now. _If I was a rich girl..._

"And then seconds later you're alone. With Hector."

_Na na na na na…_

"You should know that society shuns ladies who act so freely, Susannah!"

_I'd have all the money in the world..._

ARGH. It's not working!

Deciding to cut in, I uncrossed my arms and stood akimbo." Look, Anet. C'mon. You can't possibly believe that I'm a lady of the night. Not only is that a disgusting notion, it is absolutely silly and incorrect. I am completely chaste and untouched."

Well. Sorta.

Kissing of the French degree does not count.

Right?

"I'm simply lookin' out for you, Susannah. Men in California can be quite brutal."

She was acting like a dog with a bone. Stubborn and MEAN. Dude, just let it go, already! Gawd.

I scowled at her, despair beginning to swallow up my irritation. How am I supposed to gain allies here, when I'm being continuously bad-mouthed by said allies? "I'm touched by your concern, really, I am. But I can't believe you think so little of me, Anet."

"Think so little of you, lady Susannah? Why my cousin must be insane!"

That was Derek, making an entrance through the parlor door. He took in the scene: me sullenly staring at an annoyed Anet. Absorbing the seriousness of the situation, he sombered up, his next joke disappearing, much like my honor, probably. "What's amiss?"

Amiss? Whatever you wanna call it, dude. Your cousin's a _freak_.

"Anet thinks I'm a hooker," I stated, sourly. Then added, defensively, before he got any ideas, "Which by the way, I absolutely am not."

Derek blinked. He stared at me, then Anet (still appearing harassed), and me again. He then promptly began to laugh.

What is so damn funny, Mr. Chuckles?

Well, I bet he wouldn't be laughing if Anet had called him a hooker. Hah! Hahaha—Wait. Guys can't be hookers. Okay. Stripper, then. Ew. Flash of Derek, the stripper. Not pleasant. And now two bizarre, unforeseen flashes of Paul and Jesse strippers. All of them with poles, and leather.

Oh my God. I am hallucinating. That stupid snake must have bit me!

I glared at Derek. For my sake, it looked like he was attempting to stifle his laughter. "So sorry, Susannah. You'll have to forgive Anet. She…well, she accuses practically all ladies she sees at the inn of being …unvirtuous. It is a tendency that Kay and I are trying to rid her of."

Ah. It all makes sense now. Not the snake thing but Anet. I _knew_ I had nothing to be guilty about.

I think I deserve an apology.

Anet turned her icy glare on Derek, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

Derek watched her coolly. "You've got flour all over your front, cousin," he observed.

I watched them both, my gaze switching, nervously back and forth between the two, as if watching a bouncing twitchy ferret.

She ignored his remark. "I have no such tendency," she declared, angrily.

"Yes, you do, Anet. Don't bother denying it. Remember that Hidalgo girl? She burst into tears when you commented on her 'vile' appearance. For someone so confident and attractive you have no excuse to judge others so harshly. Such behavior is beneath you."

Ooh. Zing!

Anet stammered for a retort. As she did so, Derek breezed past me, muttering, "She's harmless really. Just overlook such comments," and grabbed some bread from the counter.

As he bit into it, Anet exclaimed, "I do not judge people unfairly. I-I knew from the moment I saw her that Alita de Silva was an **_easy_** girl."

Hmm. Call _that_ harmless? She's a venomous cobra.

Probably worse than the one in her room.

Hiss.

Both seemed to realize what Anet had said seconds after me. Anet sucked in a shallow breath, looking like, oh, I dunno, her crazy pet snake had suddenly slithered up and started strangling her.

Derek's usually laidback form tensed and straightened abruptly, his emerald eyes turning a disturbing dark green. He swallowed, looking dour. Like he almost choked.

"What did you just say?" he asked slowly.

"I think Alita's nice," I said quickly, trying to sooth frazzled nerves. Knowing that Anet habitually called girls hookers made me sympathize her for her sad, Tourette's-like condition.

"Did I stammer?" Anet responded. Even though she still gave off an uncomfortable air, she didn't back down.

Derek, who had always been easy-going in my presence, looked homicidal. Like he wanted nothing better than to hit something, or someone. Which wouldn't be very surprising. If he hit her, that is. Guys hitting girls is a thing of the past and present, I suppose.

It would be as common as a serpent eating a fluffy little bunny.

Two things I find very barbaric.

"I mean, I only met her a day ago, but she seemed like a fun person. Hot sisters, too. I liked her dress. Light green and pretty. It matched—"

My idiotic prattling was interrupted (thank God, running out of ideas here...)by Derek's low, growling voice. "Don't you _ever_ talk about her that way, again, Anet. You know _nothing_ about Alita. Nothing about me or Alita."

He walked gruffly out of the kitchen, throwing down the bread he had held. In the parlor, I heard Derek shout something like, "Get the bloody hell outta my way," a few times, but,with stronger language, of course, raising responding curses from the parlor's inhabitants until it all died down to its usual dull roar as he departed.

I glanced at Anet. She gave me an apologetic look.

"Well. Call me a prostitute, and then call his girlfriend a prostitute. Seems like you made both of our days, Nettie. Congrats."

She muttered at me to shut up, turned around and began to putter with ingredients. But she was much nicer to me after that.

If it's any record.

* * *

"Susannah!"

Huh? I looked over the many heads and smelly cowboy figures in the parlor, trying to locate the little voice that had yelled my name.

_Oof. _Something smashed into my stomach.

"Ow."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

"I'll live."

I looked down at Neva de Silva. Jesse's thirteen-year-old sister smiled up at me. My heart panged painfully, as I was reminded of Doc's similar worshipful grin.

Had anyone noticed that I hadn't returned from school, yet? I've been here for about two days, which must equal, like two hours in the future. According to Paul's random stupid calculations, at least. Soon it would be dinnertime, and I wouldn't be there. What then?

"What are you doing here, Neva? You're not alone, are you?" I looked around. "This is a creepy place for a kid." Already in the past 48 hours I had witnessed Kay shooing away cowboys who had broken into fights over:

A) Alcohol ("You dirty _vaquero_, that was _my_ beer!" Bam.)

B) Whores – real ones ("You disgustin' cowboy, _I'm_ getting' her!" Pow.), and

C) Money ("You filth, I _won_ the card game!" Bang.).

No wonder Jesse doesn't like it when I call him a cowboy.

Suffice to say, a 19th century inn is no place for a little girl.

"I'm not alone," Neva answered, cheerily, bouncing on the balls of her heels, studying the chaos around us. "Isabel and Alita are here somewhere."

Very helpful, dear.

"Are you looking for your brother?" I asked innocently.

She shook her head, her brown, slightly wavy hair, coiling slightly. "No, we know where Jesse is. We're looking for you, actually. Alita wants to talk to you."

"Oh." I said, and then said again, realizing something. "_Oh_. Um, by any chance has she talked to Derek lately?" I so did not want a blood bath on my hands. Hope Derek had the sense not to go blabbing to his flame on what his cousin had said. If Jesse's sisters had as much a temper as him, Anet would be sleeping with the fishes.

"No, not since yesterday, to my knowledge." Noticing my relieved sigh, she peered up at me curiously. "Why?"

I raised an eyebrow. If she acts so similar to Doc I'm sure she can handle some sisterly teasing. "Leave the asking of questions to the adults, sweetie."

"Susannah!" A petite hand waved at me from across the Inn. It was Alita's. I waved back.

"What?" I shouted in response.

I saw her roll her eyes at my lack of manners, and make her way towards us. Isabel was behind her.

Neva was still staring at me shrewdly. 'Calculating is for calculators,' I almost snapped, but caught myself as the words were leaving my mouth. "Ca—um, wow. California is a loud state. Damn, I mean, territory. I mean…erm, let's go in the back, then, okay?"

I turned around and led Neva and her sisters to the kitchen before she could respond.

Ugh, get a hold of yourself, Simon! No more silly mess-ups. Mess-ups are _not_ good. 'Specially in front of the smart one...grr.

"So. Alita. You wanted to say something...?" I asked, once the four of us were in the kitchen, which was reasonably quieter than the inn area. Anet wasn't there cooking anything, so I sent a silent thanks to the big kahuna upstairs. No confrontations tonight!

Alita stood a few feet from me and Isabel and Neva settled themselves on stools near the counter, nibbling on the bread that Anet had concocted to relieve her anger after our little strife.

"Well, Miss Susannah Simon. Tomorrow my family is holding a small social gathering at our ranch in early celebration of Christmas and our little sister's birthday."

"Nina's turning five," Isabel added helpfully.

I nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Yes, and there will be dancing and music of course. And, even though this is somewhat short notice, we'd like to invite you."

"Yes, please come!" Isabel begged.

"If you don't have a proper gown, Alita has far too much than is becoming," contributed Neva.

Alita shot her sister a quick glare before saying, kindly, "Derek and Anet are coming, so you'll know some people. We'll introduce you to the rest."

"Even though said rest are dreadfully dull." Isabel.

"Isabel!" Neva & Alita. Shocked expressions.

"Excuse me for being frank." Wicked laughter.

"And impolite." Neva.

"Wow," I said, still surprised. "Sure, I'd love to go."

I'm not much of a party-girl, to tell you the truth, though. Yeah, I can dance, sing a bit and stuff, but it's never really been my thing. Unlike ghost busting. Mediating ghosts can take up a lot of one's social life.

Thanks a lot, GOD.

But, hey. The waltz. Spanish gowns (gulp). Jesse. What's not to like? "It sounds like fun," I added.

Isabel squealed in happiness. Alita and Neva smiled at me. "Fantastic," Alita cried, giving me a hug.

"We will come back at around two with a dress for you." Isabel said, getting up. "And to fetch Derek and Anet, as well."

"First we must invite them." Neva said, reasonably.

They walked out of the kitchen, to find Derek and Anet.

"Thank you for the bread!"

"We'll see you tomorrow!"

"_Adios_, Susannah!"

Heh. All de Silvas love me. Jesse. His sisters. It's a nice feeling, being loved.

* * *

"Susannah!"

Dude. What is it _now_?

Is this Calling-On-Suze Day, or something? 'Cause I'm dead tired of it.

I glared in the general direction of where the voice had come from, feeling a slight chilly breeze tickle my skin. My gaze landed on a few remaining drunks hanging on the bar counter, spouting out their woes to a disgruntled-looking Kay, Anet with a broom in hand sweeping up dirt and Derek happily polishing the piano with a rag. He whistled a tune that sounded akin to '_My Clementine_.' (A/N: Someone's giddy.)

I turned around, ready to let the mysterious caller go, when my hand brushed against some silky material.

"God!" I jumped. Joan was smirking up at me clad in her blue silk shirt and jeans. Modern clothing, in other words. Oh, what I wouldn't give for my old motorcycle jacket… and some Prada slacks. And a bar of Hershey's chocolate. Hmm, that would be nice.

(A/N: Heh. Joan of Arcadia's on right now. I'm missing it for you guys...)

"Joan! How'd you get here?" Ah, silly question, Simon. I shook my head. "Uh, never mind." Nobody was paying any attention to us, thankfully, so I continued my seemingly one-sided conversation. "Why are you here?"

She broke into a smile. Wow. First time that's ever happened. Probably the last time, too.

I bet it's a fake smile. She must want something.

"No reason, really. Just wanted to see how you were progressing with helping me, is all."

Mmmhmm. Knew it.

"Right," I muttered. "About that, well, seeing as you died about 200 years from now I really don't see how I can help you. I don't even know why you're here, Joan."

So take a hint. GET OOUUUTTT!

Joan's smile was turned upside down. "You mean, why I'm even dead?" She pouted. "I can tell you why. I'm not _even_ supposed to be de-"

"No, that's not what I meant." I gave an exaggerated sigh. "I meant why you are here, with me, in the mid-nineteenth century. If you haven't noticed, it's not 2005 and that's not normal."

I'm anything but normal, so, you know, _I _wasn't too freaked out. I see ghosts, exorcise, 'em, get thrown off roofs, dodge statute heads, kiss my archenemy, etc. This was just another chapter in the biography of Susannah Simon.

Assuming that I ever find a way to leave this "chapter," that is.

But Joan is just another ghost who never was a mediator before she died, never saw a ghost or felt their wrath until she died, so she has good reason to flip about this time warp thingy.

Yet she wasn't flipping. Which was starting to flip me out a bit.

Her not flipping out was flipping me out. Interesting how I phrase things, huh?

I could totally be a poet.

_Thou aren't freakethed, which flippeth me outeth,_

_Ah, such a fine, abnormal life I liveth,_

_With such twists and turns._

_My main concern is that I yearn for, um, ranchers_

_Who're FOXY!_

That is my masterpiece.

"Look, Joan. I can't help you right now. I've got a lot on my mind, including how to get both of us out of her, okay?"

She looked at me, with a sly expression on her face. "So you wanna know why I'm here with you, huh?" She asked, and in the pit of my stomach I felt a sense of unease blossom. I arched a doubtful eyebrow in response.

"It's because of," she pointed across the parlor, "him." I followed her direction and to my distinct horror my gaze fell upon Paul Slater.

Oh, sure. "Him."

Just great.

* * *

A/N: This has got to be my longest chapter thus far. Don't know how many, but it's ten at least!

Oh, I've got a puppy! His name's Eli. He looks like a lamb. He's the gosh darn cutest little black Airedale doggie I ever did see. Except he eats plastic. And licks rusty refrigerators. And his mom stole my shoe… But he wanted me to tell you all "Hi." If you say hiya back to my dear Eli, maybe I'll update sooner.

Arf!

Alda

PS. For no apparent reason I decided that the theme of this chapter would be snakes. And no, Anet has no pet snake. Just Suze's imagination.

PPS. Anybody know about what get-togethers in the 1850s were like? Piñatas and tequila, perhaps?

PPPS. Credit to Arda Silverlace for her LOVELY, FOXY poem.


	9. A Cavalcade of Oddities

**Horror Vacui**

A/N: Hey. I don't know about this chapter. It's...weird. Whenever I have either Paul or Jesse in a chapter I abruptly feel the need to add the other guy to the chapter to. Something about balancing good and evil maybe. Well, this is one of those chapters.

Oh, and anything odd you notice in the last chapter, this chapter and probably future ones are probably mistakes. I just reread the last chapter and wanted to kill myself over a few of 'em.

And thanks to all who sends their greetings to Eli. He loves you guys too.

Chapter 9: A Cavalcade of Oddities

* * *

Holly hell!

"What are you doing here?" I practically shouted, as I strode angrily up to him.

Paul grinned triumphantly at my rage. "I'm always here, Suze."

"Don't mock me," I retorted, irritated. "So, what? Is Joan your newest minion or something?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He was still grinning. How is it that he can be so, so, SO annoying? And still look so attractive, at times?

Not as hot as Jesse, of course.

'Cause you know. Annoying-ness doesn't compliment hotness.

Much.

"Asshole." I called him. I suddenly felt the need for a name-calling jibe. I blame it on my adolescent hormones.

"Freak." Oh, how original, Paulie. Like you aren't one?

"Idiot." Hah! Beat that!

"Slut." OW!

"Psychopath," I spat.

"Punk." Lovely.

"Satan's son." C'mon. Admit it, girls. He totally is satanic.

"Er, Susannah?"

Crap.

Needless to say, that last statement wasn't Paul's.

I shut my eyes tightly in embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, Kay?"

"Could ya please show this gentleman out? It's midnight an' we're closing." He politely refrained from adding, "And don't act like such a weirdo, _God_."

That's what happens when you're a girl and you are brutally impolite and loud in a nineteenth century environment. You have to show the JERK outside.

I nodded once and with an aggravated sigh, dragged Paul out by his cotton sleeve through the door. Joan had disappeared shortly after Kay had spoken. Lucky her.

Paul was still chuckling silently at me when I stopped a few feet away from the wooden door of the Inn.

"Shut up, already," I grumbled and swatted him. Not hard, but I guess he's a bigger wuss than we all thought since suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore and instead, had shoved me up against the house, all out of the blue.

"HEY! What gives, Paul?" Jeez,_ I_ have a reason for hitting him. That swipe was for the crude 'slut' comment and his usual rudeness and aggression towards-- who else? -- but me.

But jeez. Paul's got no reason to touch _me_, let alone put me up against a wall. Seriously. Mood swings, much? Please, give this guy a Midol, someone.

His hands were grasping my shoulders in a powerful and unnerving grip, holding me against the Inn's splintery house wall, so I had no choice but to look him in the eye. His crystal blue eyes flared with umbrage. Um, yikes?

"Suze," he growled, "how can you be heartless?" Whoa, deja vu. Hadn't I said the exact same thing to him yesterday? "How can you just act like you don't care about me? At all? I know you do. You _must_. You wouldn't put up with me if you didn't."

I gaped at him. "Oh my God, Paul, don't make _this_ about _that_. We've been over that. I like," cough _love_ cough, "Jesse, not you. And I wanna know what Joan's doing here, too. She's not a mediator, she can't do shifter things. So I know you have something to do with her being here in the past with me. What did you do? Cast a bizarre voodoo spe--?"

But he interrupted me and shook me by the shoulders, not very gently, might I add. "I'd tell you why." He stated, rather passionately, a mad glint in his eye. "I'd tell you that and more, if you only gave me a chance! I give you plenty of opportunities. I do. I want to help you, Suze. Help you, teach you, be with you. But you are so damn hard to get through to!"

Oooh. Dangerous eye glint. Not a good sign. Proceed with caution, Suze. You've got yourself a ticking bomb here...

"Listen, Paul," I said, slowly, starting to feel small and crushed, due to his bothersome closeness. Dude, ever heard of personal space? Our faces were inches apart, mainly because Paul's was creeping closer to mine, and to avoid such facial contact I had pressed the back of my head to the wall, unable to escape further. I tried to wriggle out of his grip. "I've never liked you. Never have and never will. Sorry to put it so harshly, but get over it."

Tick tock tick tock...

He squeezed my shoulders tighter. "God, I am _not _a stress ball, Paul. Let go--" But I was incapable of finishing my annoyed statement, when Paul interrupted me by pressing his mouth against mine. I wouldn't call it a kiss, since it was way too aggressive and, well, odd. Cold and yet passionate, in a frantic way. But it sure gave me an unpleasant sense of goose bumps. I immediately shoved him away.

His face took on a half-desperate, half-furious look at my rejection. He spoke as if it took him a mighty effort not to yell. I heard pent-up emotion behind each word." So, do I even have a chance of--?"

**KA-BOOM**!

"Oi!" An enraged voice shouted, from the right of us, where the door was. (A/N: I know you all wish this were Jesse. But I find it necessary to the story line for it not to be. -grins- Actually, I don't, but I just love to torture you guys. Oh, and to make conflict. And besides, does Jesse say "Oi"?) It was dark, but whoever had shouted had probably seen us.

"Unhand, Susannah, you bastard!" Someone ripped Paul away from his position against me, allowing me to finally breathe properly. Relieved, I looked around, and saw Derek holding Paul's arm at a very uncomfortable angle.

"My God," Derek stated in disgust, glaring at his captive. Paul, from his bent up position, made a pained noise. Derek turned to me, in concern. "Did he hurt you, Susannah?"

I shook my head. He gave me a doubtful look.

"Do you want me to go to the authorities?"

I shook my head, no, again. Paul muttered something, "No…police...ow...both be sorry...ow...arm...shit..."

He sounded quite decisive, yet sad.

"Kill him?" Derek suggested as Paul's fate. He looked serious.

"God, no!" I said quickly. I may not like Paul, but killing isn't my thing.

I do not, for example, want some man to kill another man, just because I gave the a-okay. Some girls might be fine with that (Yeah, MARIA!) but I am not.

Derek looked disappointed. He jerked Paul's twisted limb, raising a wounded groan from Paul. "I'm letting you go, filth, but if I see you near Farr From Home Inn or Susannah Simon ever again, I swear my fist will be the last thing your foul eyes see. Understand?"

Paul grunted and Derek released him.

With a final look at me, Paul turned, shaking his injured arm, and walked unevenly away. From what I could see of him, he looked lachrymose. Before he was out of hearing-distance, I shouted, "Paul! About your question? The answer's 'no'."

He didn't pause, but I'm sure he heard me.

(A/N: I'd be cruel to stop here, huh?)

Derek stared at me once Paul was gone, and I pointedly ignored his gaze. I sighed tiredly after a minute or so and hastily went, "Thanks."

He stopped his staring. "Who was that, eh, Susannah?"

"A pest," I answered quickly.

"You seem to know his name," he observed. "You must be acquainted."

"Um, yeah, but it's kinda a thing of the past." Hahaha. More like thing of the 'future.'

"Well, whoever this man is, you shouldn't be with him like that." He scolded. "It's not proper."

"I know." I think we were both recalling Anet's earlier accusing remarks of Alita and me. 'Hooker.' Harsh.

"I've seen him before," Derek said thoughtfully, beginning to simmer down.

"He's been here before," I said, rolling my eyes at Derek's surprised look. "He's kinda renting a room."

"Oh. Well..." Derek said slowly, "He's going to have quite some trouble returning, then. There's not a chance in hell he'll be back while I'm present."

I laughed softly, realizing that it was the first time I've laughed in days. "Thank you, Derek."

He smiled at me, and slid a brotherly arm around my shoulder, guiding me inside. "Think nothing of it, friend."

* * *

A piece of cheese, a cold potato and a cup of water. That's a 1800s breakfast, I suppose.

What happened to waffles, I ask you? Bacon? Eggs? Heck, I'd settle for generic icky, wheat cereal, right now. I'm that _desperate_.

Andy would be so disappointed.

Needless to say, I was hardly chipper as morning rolled by.

Due to my disinterest in breakfast, Anet began to think something was wrong with me. "I'm a moody pioneer woman itchin' to shoot some beaver. And I want a cappuccino latte, goddamnit," I had said grumpily, after she had asked me "What is the matter, Susannah?" for a third time. But she didn't pay too much attention to my mini outbursts, due to the fact that she was ecstatic about the de Silva party we'd be at later that evening.

And she probably didn't understand me, either.

As I helped her in the Inn's kitchen she kept on asking me pointless questions, like "Have you ever been to a party, Susannah? What did you wear? Do they even have festive parties in New York? I hear that you Yankees are a depressed lot, never celebrate like us Californians do. Why did you leave New York anyway? Doesn't your family miss you?" None of which I could answer truthfully without sending Anet into major shock. Imagine: _Oh, yeah, Nettie, I've been to loads of parties. What did I wear, you ask? Oh, you know, miniskirt, leather black jacket, halter-top, the usual. There's tons of wild parties in New York. We aren't the city that never sleeps for nothing, you know. Why'd I leave the Big Apple? That's a funny story actually. My family probably doesn't even know I'm gone, something about time travel irregularities, evidently... _She'd flip.

At around 11 am, I couldn't handle her ranting any longer, so I begged a break and went to look for Derek before she could deny me one.

I wandered outside of the inn, took a few steps back and surveyed it for a few minutes. Man, my house has sure been through a huge makeover. From this wooden little dump to a gorgeous 21st century Victorian beauty. Andy must be one helluva carpenter. Oh, and Mother Nature helps too, I guess. Though it's kind of small and old at the moment, it does feel rather cozy. The house. There's no happy pine tree near the front door, no walkway, either, but the roof still looks strong. That's something, eh? Keeps out the sizzling sun's heat. Which is now frying my back. And head. Wait, huh? Ow, ow, ow. SUNLIGHT! I'm burning...buuurrrrnnnniiiinnnggggg.

I staggered away from the range of the sun's rays directly above me, feeling betrayed. And burned. What gives? I thought that the sun is directly in the sky at noon, not friggin' eleven in the morning. God, this kind of stuff can give someone skin cancer. If I die, it's all the sun's fault...

I shall sue the sun!

Yes, that will go over well with the lawyers. Picture the headlines: _Suze Simon Sues Sun! Details Inside! _

Sunlight's so not good for me.

Walking over to the place where the horses were tied up, I kept my hands protectively on my head, over my hair, to prevent my luscious chestnut curls from shriveling up and falling off from the heat. Jeez, the mid-morning sun is no joke. Especially in California. I need my Pantene shampoo and conditioner. Some Paul Mitchell hair product would also be nice.

Oh, and sunscreen.

The dark brown horse I had rescued yesterday (or was it two days ago?) from the ugly cowboy (A/N: Chapter Three) looked up at me with its expressive black eyes. I think it's expressive black eyes were asking quite blankly, "What are you doing?" since not many people walk around with their hands on their head in the Wild West, I imagine. Unless they're criminals because of the whole 'Put your hands on your head!' act, but that's kinda modern.

I sniffed and patted the horse on his nose, except on horses they're called muzzles, aren't they? I returned my hand to my head shortly after, stubbornly. "I don't have to explain myself to you. You're a horse, Black Beauty. And horses don't understand humans."

The horse snorted, and I don't think I'm imagining this when I say that it gave me a doubtful look and shook it's head, making it's black mane swirl like a swarm of coal-black bats.

I was about to tell the horse to mind it's own business and keep it's scary hair to itself—yeah, I know, very mature, Suze—when I felt a piece of light material graze my arm, that I had still placed on my head. It felt soft, like silk. I groaned inside, knowing Joan was back. In her pretty silky top, nonetheless. Levitating or something.

"Joan," I began, "How many times do I have to tell you?" I started to turn around, ready to stare her down to, you know, get my point across, "You're dead and things aren- Oh. Um, hi, Jesse."

I automatically snapped my hands down, away from my burning head, and now face, and turned the color of a STOP sign, staring at the living and breathing Jesse de Silva.

Why is it that Jesse always finds me in the most inexplicable situations? Like when I'm talkin' to a horse, for instance. Or lookin' like a felon. It's SO weird. The cosmos obviously don't want me to appear normal.

Pfft, Suze. You're _not_ normal. Forget about your social-scarring habit, much?

Jesse was looking particularly hot today. Not to say he hadn't last night or yesterday afternoon, but I suppose, like wine or cheese or even spaghetti, he gets better with age.

Um. I'm not implying that Jesse's old or smelly like cheese. Cough. But if he were a fine wine I wouldn't mind getting drunk on him. Um, cough.

He gave me an amused smile. Not because he could read my thoughts or anything—God, how horrible would that be?—but because he was happy to see me. Or maybe delighted in watching me flush the color of a baboon's butt. Whatever. "_Senorita_ Susannah. What a pleasure it is to see you."

Okay, so he was happy to see me. That's reassuring. But did he hear what I said to the horse? Or that Joan comment?

"Yeah, um, it's great seeing you again too, Jesse." Even though I just saw you a day ago in circumstances that were hardly better but hey, can't complain.

He looked at the horses and his smile grew bigger. I felt my stomach lurch happily at his smile. God, such _nice_ teeth. Erm, Jesse not the horses. "Ah, do you like horses?" he asked, excitedly.

I shrugged slightly, suspicious of his excitement. "Well, I have one, if that's what you mean." Hey, don't blame me for my slight aloofness. I'm a stranger in a foreign land, so to speak, and um, it could be a trick?

Okay, bad excuse. I just wasn't too comfortable around this Jesse yet. What if he had a hidden dark side, like he drowns kittens in his sleep? My Jesse would never do that and I wanna know what sort of man I'd be saving if Paul suddenly decided to aid in Jesse surviving Diego's attack. I don't want to save a guy who drowns kittens.

Meow.

"A horse? You have a horse?" I nodded. "How thrilling, Susannah!" And he really did sound thrilled. "That is rare, indeed."

I returned his contagious smile, uncertainly. "...It is?"

He nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes. Most of the ladies' fathers are the ones with the horses." He frowned slightly. "I've found that even though horseback is a main way of transportation, many ladies loathe the creatures."

"That's stupid," I contributed in agreement. "I like them."

For the most part.

"Can you ride?"

Um, am I supposed to? "Uh...no."

Jesse gave me a secret grin, one that I've only seen when he's about to do something roguish, like abruptly tickle me while I'm doing homework or snatch me up from my bed and waltz me across my room when I'm depressed. I immediately warmed up to him. Can't blame me. It was involuntary. "Would you like to learn, _querida_?"

I gaped at him for only a split-second, before blurting out an enthusiastic, "Sure!" After all, it's not every day that I get asked by a hot rancher to learn how to ride a horse.

Sad, but true.

Oh, well. I got over this little fact soon enough.

"_Excelente_," he said, taking my hand in his calloused, rough one, and positioning me in front of the black horse I had been mumbling to earlier. The horse nickered at me. "He is yours, I presume?" Jesse asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

He stroked the horse's dark muzzle. "The gelding seems fond of you." Only the gelding? Shucks. "Does he have a name?"

I shook my head. "No, not really." The name Black Beauty's too racist. If I told Jesse what I'd been calling him, it would be...weird. He'd think I'm apart of the Ku Klux Klan or something.

"We'll think of something appropriate for this _caballo_, then."

"Um, I'm assuming that 'caballo,' means 'horse?'"

He smiled at my deficiency in Spanish. Winking, he replied, "_Sí, Señorita_." Yes, rub it in, dear Jesse. But I can speak French and thus I know what _merde_ means. So hah!

Jesse's blithe attitude disappeared when he saw the saddle on my horse. "Is this your only saddle, Susannah?"

"Yes."

He frowned, eyebrows knit together unhappily, yet still managing to look like a handsome Hispanic male model. "I am sorry, then, Susannah. This isn't a sidesaddle but a western one, where the rider goes astride."

I gave him a blank look.

He elaborated further. "Ladies, like yourself, can only ride sidesaddle. It's only fitting. I regret to say," he looked really sad too, "that I'm unable to instruct you on how to ride properly. I have many sisters, I could teach you the right way of riding, but the saddle is all wrong for you, Susannah."

Oooh. I get it. All that propriety mumbo jumbo crap. What a sexist time, the 1800s.

I attempted to salvage the situation. "But, Jesse. I don't know either way of riding, sidesaddle or astride, so I'm cool learning with the western saddle." I gave him a big persuasive smile.

"No, _lo_ _siento_, _querida_. It would not be appropriate."

_Speaking_ of inappropriate… I mumbled something I hoped he couldn't interpret, in response.

Jesse grinned at this and squeezed my hand slightly, cheering up considerably. Look! See how happy I make him, when I'm being my natural, 21st century, weird self? Aw. "Well, Susannah, you'll receive nasty sunburn if we remain out here much longer. Come, may I treat you to a drink?'

A drink? Like, alcohol? Do they card? Nah, Jesse wouldn't do that. "That would be great."

As I turned to go into the Inn, my horse friend whickered forlornly, realizing it wouldn't get any more attention. Jesse easily quieted him though, holding the horse's head and murmuring, "_No preocupe, criatura hermosa, usted es apreciado_," into his face.

Lucky horse.

I so need to learn Spanish.

In the Inn, I couldn't find Anet or Derek. But that was fine by me. Anet would flip if she saw me with Jesse, since she has a mini-huge crush on him, and Derek would blow a gasket too, considering he saw me with Paul and everything last night. I don't want my nineteenth century homie thinking that I'm trashy.

Actually I don't want anyone to think I'm like that. No indeedy. Suze Simon needs no more of that sort of attention.

Carefully Jesse led me to a vacant table near an emptier section of the Inn. Wary of overly friendly cowboys, he grasped my hand as we walked, saying, "_Perdone, hombres._ Excuse me. _Perdón_," as we passed tables filled with rowdy, drinking men. One burped at me.

So polite.

After pulling my wooden chair out for me, he gave me a brief smile and said, "One moment, Susannah. I'll be back," and disappeared towards the bar.

La. I gazed at the wood tabletop, allowing my mind to wander. Jesse was much more friendly and talkative here, in his home era. Probably because he isn't dead now. Except he may be dead in like days, I have no idea. Diego's around here somewhere, so is Maria so I should definitely do something about that soon. And what is Paul's deal? I mean what crawled up his butt, making him act so—Hey, wait. Did Jesse just say, "I'll be back"? Hah, like Arnold Swartzenegger. But without that horrible Swedish accent. Wait, is it Swedish or Australian? Or maybe it's Transylvanian...

Okay. Wandering's probably not so good for my mind.

Soon, Jesse came with two glasses. He set the one with pinkish liquid in front of me.

I took a hesitant sip from the glass. A bubbly, fruity, totally not alcoholic taste filled my throat. I looked at Jesse, who was about to drink his, an eyebrow quirked. "Not beer?"

He coughed into his own beverage. "_What_? Susannah, you think that I would give you such a drink? Alcohol? _Nombre de Dios, _I'm hurt."

I almost laughed at his reaction. It was so Jesse-like. "I was just kidding, Jesse. That was very nice of you to get me something in the first place. It tastes good," I reassured, taking another sip to convince him. "Since it's not alcohol then, what is it?"

"It is carbonated water, cherry-flavored. I thought you might like it."

"Carbonated? Like soda?" Mmm, I miss soda.

"Beg your pardon?"

Crap. "Uhh. Never mind."

I quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. Jesse probably finds me weird enough, without my references to supposedly unreal things. "You mentioned your sisters, earlier?"

With my encouragment, he told me about his sisters, relaying with much relish a tale of Elaine, his eight-year-old sister, leaving him a variety of unpleasant surprises from the cattle in his belongings when he refused to let her go to Mexico with him a year ago. Ew. To be fair, I gave him an edited version of one of Doc's, "David's," high-tech, scientific speeches about time travel. The 4th dimension, time, yeah.

What? Don't look at me like that. It seemed fitting at the time. I told him, "David really believes that it could be possible, time travel, that anyone could do it." Hint, hint. Wink, wink.

Jesse wasn't wigged out by my kooky talk. Nope, on the contrary. He simply raised an eyebrow at this comment, curiously and gestured for me to continue. We chatted for a while. He watched me intently, finished his drink, asking questions and smiling at me often. He was practically the same as the ghost I knew and loved, only more cordial and outgoing, I learned. It was easy for me to grow comfortable and relaxed in the presence of this living Jesse.

Perhaps the same could be said for him—the comfortable and relaxed bit—since he glanced outside up at the sun, returned his gaze to me, then milliseconds later did a double take. He swore in Spanish. "_Infierno_, is it really past noon?" He turned quickly to the grandfather clock behind the bar. His face fell. 1:13 pm.

"Oh, _querida_, I sincerely must go," he stood up, hurriedly and I followed suit.

"I'm sorry," I said, hastily. "I hope I haven't made you late for something."

Noting my sad expression, Jesse took my hand in his, kissing it lightly. Ah, Swoon City, here I come. "No, but if I do not leave now, I will be bound to be behind schedule for an exigent engagement." He paused, and then added, "I greatly enjoyed the time we spent together. I hope we may meet again, Susannah?" He was asking for my permission.

I grinned. "You know we will."

Good answer, Suze! With a last smile, he was gone.

* * *

A/N: Hahaha. I got a Spanish-English dictionary from the library. I stole it. Mwahahaha. No, I didn't, I bought it at their book sale. But now I am ready for what is to come. Dun dun DUN dun dun-nuh! A bunch of Spanish dialogue. -clutches dictionary and cackles- So long, little... -flips through pages-, ah, _polillas! _(A phrase which here hopefully means 'bookworms'.)

Alda

PS. So sorry for this dreadfully and evilly long update period. I got sucked into another obsession. The Phantom of the Opera! Blame Ugly, over there, hiding underneath the opera house. Yay!

Yeah, someday I hope I'll obsess about something not related to books/movies/wicked-cool-musicals…But that's someday. Review?


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